


Destiny's Path

by MonJoh



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arthur Finds Out, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Magic Revealed, No Slash, Post-Season/Series 04, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-11-02 07:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 88,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10939578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonJoh/pseuds/MonJoh
Summary: Following the events of Season 4, Arthur suspects the one person in the world he had thought would never betray him. Merlin is forced to confront first hand the price of not returning magic to Camelot. Morgana recovers from her most recent defeat and considers her next move.





	1. Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to wryter501 and AJs Random for their beta help.

The earliest rays of morning sun touched the ceiling of the council chamber and coloured window panes turned the smoke of dozens of candles red and yellow. King Arthur blinked and rubbed his eyes. The last of the Southron fighters had been defeated only a few hours ago though Arthur’s few hundred warriors had begun the battle for Camelot not long after daybreak. He had gotten little sleep the night before the battle and now an entire day of fighting merged into an endless night. He had received reports, sent knights to put down the last Southron barbarians, directed guards to rescue civilians still hiding in the woods of Ascetir, and generally ensured the safety of everyone in Camelot. The defeated Southrons had set fire to fields and buildings as they fled and Arthur sent more of his men to deal with the chaos in their wake.

The citadel had long since been secured allowing Arthur to shed his armour hours ago though he had had no opportunity to clean up. The king was seated before the mess of reports on the council table wearing a red under-tunic and gore-stained trousers. His tunic was damp and stuck to his back between his shoulder blades and Arthur knew his hair was as sweat-soaked as his shirt, but battle adrenaline continued to course through his bloodstream and he did not yet feel tired.

It was there Merlin found the king rattling off a fresh list of orders to Leon in response to the latest damage reports. At least the fighting was finally done. Arthur and his knight both looked up as Merlin rushed in without ceremony, shouting for Arthur’s attention.

Leon acknowledged the king’s most recent orders with a simple, “Yes, Sire,” and gave Merlin a gentle punch in the arm as he left.

The dark-haired young man winced and rubbed his arm before turning back to the king. “Tristan’s leaving.”

The news was expected but Arthur felt disappointed even so. The outlaw had proved to be a capable fighter and an intelligent strategist; he would be a welcome addition to Camelot’s forces if he chose to stay. Besides, honest work would keep the smuggler out of trouble. But Arthur had promised Tristan he was free to do as he saw fit.

“If he wants to leave, that is his choice.” The king bent over the next report.

“I mean, he’s leaving right now.” Merlin was slightly out of breath.

Arthur’s head snapped up. “Now?”

“He’s harnessing a horse to a cart in the courtyard.”

The king had no intention of allowing Tristan to leave without a farewell. With a quick order to the guards to make sure Leon could find him, Arthur darted through the corridors to the palace steps.

At the bottom was a small wooden cart harnessed to a single horse. The cart was empty except for a blanket-wrapped bundle lying lengthwise in its bed, approximately the size of a man. Or a woman. Tristan had not mounted the driver’s seat. He stood beside the cart with one hand on the bundle, head bowed and shoulders heaving.

Arthur laid his right hand on one shaking shoulder. Immediately, Tristan looked up and Arthur saw with surprise that his eyes were dry although they were red and sunken.

“There is still a place here for you if you choose to stay.” Arthur looked toward the blanket-covered roll. “She will be buried with honour.”

There was a flash of gratitude in the bruised depths of Tristan’s eyes but he shook his head. “I must return Isolde to her husband.”

Arthur felt his breath catch; he had assumed the two of them were a couple but there had been little time to exchange histories. So Tristan had stolen another man’s wife. Arthur was uncomfortably reminded of what had transpired between Lancelot and Guinevere before he forced the memory away. “If you want to return to Camelot, then you may do so after your errand.”

A wry chuckle escaped Tristan’s throat. “I don’t expect to return. I expect there is still a death sentence on my head and Isolde’s husband will quickly send me to join my beloved.” His eyes fixed on the bundle and his hand clenched the blanket so tightly his knuckles whitened. “And it cannot be soon enough.”

Though Arthur wanted to protest the foolishness of Tristan deliberately sending himself to his own death, the king had no words of comfort to offer. If Guinevere was dead, his life would be worth nothing. The past few months had been hellish enough not knowing where she was, looking around every room without seeing her face, turning at every woman’s voice and never hearing hers. If she had not betrayed him … But Guinevere was home now. Seeing his sweetheart’s smile and hearing her laugh was a joy Tristan would not know again.

Gently, Arthur squeezed Tristan’s shoulder and then stepped back to allow Merlin to say his own farewell.

When they had bid their goodbyes, Tristan straightened his shoulders, gave them both a nod, and climbed on the driver’s seat. The bundle rocked slightly as the cart’s wheels rattled and bounced across the stone courtyard. Then horse, driver, and cart disappeared through the arched gateway and the creaking of the wooden cart faded into the noise of a hundred other people going about their business.

For one moment, Arthur stared at the archway without speaking, his mind filled with the picture of Tristan on the floor of the throne room, Isolde’s body clenched in his arms, his head buried in her blonde hair. It could have been himself crouched over Guinevere’s body; she told him Morgana had held a sword to her former maidservant’s throat and nearly struck a fatal blow. In all these months they had been apart, he had never imagined Guinevere dead; lost to him, yes, but with that faint possibility that he would lay eyes on her again.

“She’s tidying up in your chamber,” Merlin said.

“What?” Arthur frowned at his servant.

Merlin only smiled back. “Gwen is tidying up in your chambers.”

Arthur glanced down at his sweat-soaked tunic and stained trousers. Hardly appropriate apparel for a king to be wearing when he made a proposal of marriage. But then, that was not nearly as important as what he needed to tell Guinevere right now, without changing clothes, without receiving one more report, without hesitating another instant.

He wanted to give Merlin a suitable retort to disguise how easily his servant had known exactly what he was thinking, but Merlin would not be fooled. How could Arthur have been blinded by his uncle’s false allegiance when his truest friend, the man he should have trusted above all others, had been right beside him? Merlin would never lie to him, would never play him false. He would do well to remember that in future.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

The younger man’s wide-eyed stare at receiving an expression of gratitude instead of a snide comment felt nearly as satisfying as a delivering proper insult would have. Arthur gave him a wide grin along with a punch in the shoulder and went to find Guinevere.

~

Morgana felt her legs give way and sank to the leaf-covered forest floor. Her left hand clenched more tightly against the gash in her right side. Blood was warm on her fingers. She tried to brace herself with one hand pressed to the dirt, but her right arm shook and she collapsed. Her mouth sucked in dirt and bits of dried leaves with her panting breaths.

_I’m sorry, Sister. I failed you._

She closed her eyes. Everything was lost; her throne, her revenge, her army, Agravaine, her sister. There was no one left in this world who wished to see her alive again. Emrys had won. When a shadow passed over her face and the air stirred faintly under a pair of wings, she could not find strength to scare the carrion bird away.

Then a wind picked up strands of her hair and pulled them gently from her warm face. The pain in her right side which had thudded in her ears a moment ago faded to a dull ache. Her lungs filled with air.

She opened her eyes to see the most amazing magical creature perched on a tree stump, its scaly white head cocked as it chirped at her. It gurgled but she could not understand what it was trying to say. Then it flapped its leathery wings and flew straight up. Her eyes followed the beautiful creature as it soared high above her.

~

The month following the battle was a busy one. Arthur’s advisors had been mortified at the haste with which he insisted Camelot host a royal wedding and a coronation despite being in the midst of rebuilding. The great hall had been put to rights as quickly as possible and supplies gathered for a celebration feast. Every chamber and corridor throughout the citadel had been festooned with midsummer flowers in a multitude of colours, their scents beating back the lingering stink of char and smoke.

It was hardly the most sumptuous banquet ever hosted in Camelot given the haste, but there was enough for everyone. The city was crowded to bursting with refugees from the fields Morgana had ordered burned during her brief second stint as queen. A royal banquet had been an excuse to gather all the provisions they could and feed everyone in an atmosphere of joy rather than mourning.

Besides arranging two royal celebrations, Arthur’s time had been consumed with fallout from Morgana’s recent coup and driving the remaining Southrons from the area. Most of Helios’ troops had been conscripted slaves and had quickly dispersed; hopefully those boys would find survivors from their home villages rather than band together in outlaw gangs.

Arthur had questioned every one of his privy councillors and others close to the throne in search of conspirators, but it seemed his uncle had been the only traitor. That had been a relief despite the pain that stabbed Arthur whenever he thought of how thoroughly he had been taken in by his last living relative. Relatives. His uncle and his half-sister. That was the other issue that had consumed much of the past month: Arthur’s attempts to find where Morgana had gone.

He looked at Guinevere over their breakfast table. His heart lifted at the sight of her: dark ringlets hanging loose around her face, shoulders bare of jewellery under her dressing gown.

She caught him staring and gave him a tender smile. “What’s on your mind, Arthur?”

Images and sensations from earlier that morning stole his breath. “You.” Then he pushed the fond memories aside to concentrate on his fugitive sister.

Gwen raised a brow. “I hope those worry lines aren’t due to thoughts of me.”

Arthur shook his head. “I am still concerned about Morgana. Can you go over one more time what happened when you last saw her?”

A shudder went through Gwen. “She said she hated me, not for what I had done, but for what I was destined to do.” Her brow furrowed. “Then she disarmed me with only a few blows. Her blade was pointed at my throat and there was a look of such loathing on her face.”

Gwen’s voice trembled and his heart clenched in sympathy. He recalled the look Morgana had given him in the throne room right before she said it would give her pleasure to kill him.

“She drew back her blade and I raised an arm to try to protect myself. Then there was this loud noise and Morgana was thrown backward as though by a strong wind and chunks of the ceiling rained down on her. It was like … powerful magic.”

This was what was so puzzling; Morgana had seemed powerless in the throne room and the knights she encountered in the corridor said she had used a sword against them, not sorcery. It could not have been her own magic that brought the ceiling down and transported her away, yet no one else had been in the corridor.

“You are sure no one else was there, Guinevere?”

She shook her head. “Merlin and I had separated; it was only Morgana and I. Afterward, Merlin caught up with me and asked if I was all right.”

Arthur had given his idiot manservant an upbraiding for leaving Gwen to face Morgana alone. The man was hopeless with a sword but at least between two of them Morgana would not have so easily overpowered Guinevere and nearly run her through. That had been much too close for comfort.

Merlin had not been able to offer any more details of what prevented Morgana from striking the fatal blow or where she had gone, and there had been no word of the witch in the month since. If only they knew for certain she was dead, or even if they knew for certain she was not and had some clue to her whereabouts.

Later, as he sat in the council room poring over the latest information, Arthur finally put aside his worry about Morgana’s strange disappearance. The current reports confirmed no Southrons remained in the vicinity of Camelot, those citizens whose fields had been burned had been given provisions, and the city had been mostly cleared of debris. The buildings torched by Agravaine and his henchmen were slowly being rebuilt.

The next report Arthur picked up described in detail what had happened to the troop Agravaine led to Ealdor in pursuit of the king. Consistent with earlier verbal reports, the scouts which had slipped across the border into Essetir confirmed that the bodies of that troop were burned and not a single survivor had escaped. That made little sense, unless there truly had been a dragon as rumour said; although that made no sense, either, since dragons were extinct.

The scouts had located Agravaine’s body and brought it back to Camelot. He and half a dozen men had been found dead inside the tunnels in which Arthur and his companions had fled. There were no marks on the bodies and no evidence they had wounded any of their attackers. That report was nearly as puzzling as Morgana’s disappearance.

Arthur wondered if she was responsible for Agravaine’s death. His sister had no patience for those who failed her and Arthur had no doubt she would have killed her associate without a second thought, but every bit of information confirmed she stayed in Camelot while Agravaine hunted Arthur. More likely it was another ally of hers, one with magic, who executed Agravaine. If so, he or she was yet another dangerous enemy they needed to find.

~

Three hours later, Arthur leaned his head back, tipping it from side to side to loosen his neck muscles, and rolled his shoulders. His back ached. His butt was sore. None of his pains were the bruises and tired arms of a day spent fighting or training, the welcome soreness of physical activity and the thrill of having defeated opponents in skill and strength. He was simply tired and aching.

The council room had an odd echoey feel when the king was alone and several candles had burned down to stubs which emitted more smoke than light. Arthur blinked to clear his eyes. His gaze went to the empty seat beside him where for the past year Agravaine had sat to assist him with these tiresome duties. Often, his uncle took it upon himself to assume many of the administrative tasks Arthur hated and allowed his nephew to concentrate on security and military matters.

The king looked up from his seat at the head of the table when the door opened. A head topped with messy black hair above a ridiculous red neckerchief stuck itself through the opening and took in the guttering candles and scattered papers.

Merlin shouldered the door fully open and backed through with a tray in his hands. Arthur’s mouth watered at the smell of hot grease and the sight of a tall pitcher. Merlin put the tray down on top of the papers directly in front of the king.

“I was working,” Arthur said, trying to hide the way his eyes fixed on a platter of sausages.

“Time for a break.” Merlin took up the pitcher and filled the empty goblet by Arthur’s elbow.

Arthur gave up any pretense of not appreciating the meal and attacked the sausages.

Merlin took a step back, holding the pitcher, ready to refill the king’s goblet when needed.

Arthur’s eyes tracked to the empty seat beside him again. “Why don’t you sit down, Merlin?”

“What?” The blue eyes were wide.

“Sit down. You must be hungry, too. And there’s an extra goblet on the side table.”

Merlin gawked at him. Then his eyes narrowed. “You’re joking.”

“No, I …” Arthur tried to think of a reason for his unusual invitation. “I’d like to ask you again about what happened to Morgana.”

A guarded look flashed across his friend’s face which Arthur had no time to decipher before Merlin sighed.

“I told you –”

“I know, just … have a seat and we’ll talk.”

With a lift of his brows, Merlin set the jug on the tray, fetched an empty goblet and sat down on Arthur’s right.

The king went back to his meal and nodded at Merlin.

“Gwen and I split up in the Phoenix corridor hoping to cut off Morgana’s escape. Then I heard a loud bang and when I stuck my head around the next corner, Gwen was alone but the air was thick with dust and debris drifting down from the ceiling. I made sure she was all right, then checked the hallway where the roof had collapsed. There was no sign of Morgana.”

“How did you know Morgana had been there?” Arthur asked.

Merlin blinked. “I heard their voices, hers and Gwen’s, before the loud bang.”

“And there was nothing to indicate what happened to Morgana? She seemed powerless, could she have used a spell anyway, or did she crawl away, hide somewhere until she could escape in the confusion of the battle?”

Merlin frowned. “I really don’t know. She shouldn’t have been able to use magic at all, though.”

“How do you know?”

His friend’s gaze dropped to the pitcher on the table. “That’s what Gaius says.” Merlin filled his goblet with wine and took a drink.

Arthur took a deep drink himself before switching from sausage to bread. It was warm and the butter melted as soon as he spread it on a thick chunk. “Does Gaius have any theories on what may have caused that explosion? That was an incredible stroke of luck; it saved Guinevere, no thanks to you.”

A muscle in Merlin’s jaw twitched. “Gaius thinks that whatever prevented Morgana from using her magic caused a backlash of some kind.”

That seemed plausible. “What do you think blocked her magic in the first place?”

“Emrys.”

Arthur frowned. “Who? What?”

“In the throne room,” Merlin said. “Morgana said, ‘Not even Emrys can save you now.’ And Agravaine had been asking Gaius about a sorcerer named Emrys. Gaius thinks Emrys is Morgana’s enemy and the reason she was powerless when she faced you in the throne room.”

Arthur remembered Gaius’s defense of the old sorcerer who had killed Uther, or tried to save him, or even both. _I'm not the only one seeking to protect you. There are many more who believe in the world you are trying to create._ Perhaps Gaius truly believed the old man was Arthur’s ally. But why would anyone with magic fight against Morgana? It was preposterous.

With a sigh, Arthur concentrated on the meal in front of him, eating more slowly now and thinking. “Do you believe Morgana has given up her quest for the throne?”

“No.”

The emphatic response gave Arthur pause. “You knew about Morgana before I did, didn’t you? Knew she was plotting against my – our – father before she so publically announced her heritage and stole the crown that first time.”

“Yes.”

“And you tried to warn me about Agravaine but I didn’t listen. Everything that happened, all that destruction, was my fault.”

“They betrayed you, Arthur. It isn’t anything you did.”

“I should learn not to trust so absolutely. I should know when someone is lying to me.”

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. “Sometimes people have good reasons for lying.”

“You mean when my father chose not to tell me about Morgana’s true parentage?”

“Yes, that, and maybe other things.”

“I would rather he told me the truth. I would rather he told both Morgana and I the truth. And I wish Morgana had been honest with me about her magic.”

“What would you have done?” The intensity in Merlin’s blue eyes was startling.

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know, Merlin. I really don’t know, but surely it would have been better for everyone if she hadn’t held such a dangerous secret until she hated and feared everyone. Perhaps we could have come to an understanding, something better than her wanting me dead.” _I’m going to enjoy killing you_. How had it come to that? For a fleeting moment, when they confronted each other in the throne room, Arthur had seen regret in Morgana’s eyes, a reflection of the longing inside him to repair their relationship. Then her face had closed against him. "Morgana was always kind and just. What happened to make her so twisted? I could have saved her."

"No, it's not you, Arthur. There were others better placed to help Morgana."

There was a bruised look in Merlin’s eyes as if he blamed himself for not doing more to assist Gaius in caring for Morgana. Sometimes he was too kind-hearted for his own good, taking responsibility for events beyond his control.

But Arthur had known Morgana since childhood. They had treated each other like siblings long before either learned the truth of her parentage, yet she had not come to him in her fear and anger and he had not even noticed the change in her. “I wish she had trusted me.”

~

Merlin’s breath caught. He felt as if he had been struck in the chest with a mace again. Morgana was not the only one who had lied to Arthur, who hid secrets. His failure to be honest with her while she desperately groped for an ally in her growing terror and hatred had made it easy for Morgause to corrupt her. Would his failure to tell Arthur the truth lead to more tragedy? No matter how good his reasons for hiding his magic, it was becoming more of a burden with every passing day.

Arthur looked at him and frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m just … worried about Gaius.” Which was true. Only not the whole truth.

“How is he doing?”

“He’s mostly regained the weight he lost during the week that Morgana starved him in that cell, but I’m not sure he’ll ever be the same. He moves slower, his eyesight is weaker, and he tires easily.”

“I’ll make certain his duties are kept to a minimum and we can arrange for patients to come to him more often than he goes to them.”

“Thank you, Arthur.”

Merlin watched his friend sop up the last of the sausage grease with a hunk of bread. Gaius was not the only one who had been changed by recent events. The blond king was eating less often these days, his tanned skin losing colour due to long hours indoors, and Merlin could not bring himself to add to those worries right now by confessing his secret. It had been risky, bringing up Emrys, but he had not been able to resist taking a bit of credit in a roundabout way.

He turned the goblet in his fingers and stared into the red liquid. Excuses came as readily to his tongue as they ever had, yet it was getting harder and harder to silence his conscience when he lied to Arthur. Agravaine’s gleeful accusation echoed between his ears again: _How you’ve managed to deceive him! Perhaps we’re more alike than you think_. No! They were not alike, not at all.

When Uther was alive it had been best for everyone the secret was kept. Then when magic was involved in Uther’s death and Arthur was grieving, he would not have understood that sorcery was anything but evil. Now, with Agravaine’s betrayal so fresh, it would be terrible to reveal how Merlin had lied to his best friend for as long as they had known each other.

Would there always be one excuse or another? How was Merlin to know when Arthur was ready for the truth? Would he ever be ready? How were they going to bring about the promised future if the king was ignorant of their shared destiny?

Merlin thought of the sword mounted in a special place in the armory, waiting for the king to need it again; that beautiful sword whose power Merlin could feel even from this room. Arthur had carried that sword into battle never knowing he held powerful magic in his hand, like he faced every danger not knowing the powerful magic that kept him safe. He would never appreciate its value unless Merlin told him the truth.

Merlin looked up from the goblet in his hands and drew in a breath.

Arthur met his gaze.

“I should get back to my duties,” Merlin said.

The king looked slightly disappointed but nodded. “Yes. Thank you for keeping me company, Merlin.”

~

Arthur sighed as he pushed open the door to the Council chamber the next day, dreading the piles of paper waiting for him like an enemy that multiplied every time he struck one down. For every dispute settled, every damage claim compensated, every trade offer dealt with, three more missives showed up and the lines of supplicants waiting for a chance to air grievances and make petitions in open court grew longer instead of shorter. In the past, they would have stated their business to Agravaine, who would have decided which requests were worthy of the king’s time. Now, every message and every petitioner came directly to him.

Arthur’s shoulders slumped as he entered the chamber. He had spent morning and afternoon hearing petitioners and now he would spend the rest of the day in this closed chamber reading and writing tedious letters, alone.

His eyes widened to see neat piles had replaced the scattered mess he left there when he went to hold court this morning. His eyes opened wider at the sight of his manservant seated in one of the side chairs, reading through a missive that must have arrived today.

“Merlin?”

The blue eyes met his calmly as Merlin got to his feet holding the message he was reading and picked up two other pieces of parchment. “These three have to be dealt with today, no matter how tired you are after spending all day in court.” Merlin gave him a sympathetic smile. “But everything else can wait. The piles by your chair are the ones you should look at first when you’re ready tomorrow morning. Most of these,” Merlin indicated the piles further down the table, “you can delegate to one of your council members. And Gwen can deal with the household stuff, she’s perfectly capable of tracking our inventory of stores on hand and arranging deliveries when needed and she can certainly handle your staff. You don’t have to do everything by yourself, you know, Arthur.”

The king’s gaze tracked from his friend’s earnest blue eyes to the organized table. He had been so quick to allow his uncle to assume many of the duties that Arthur felt were crushing him during his father’s illness. Then, after Uther’s death, it made sense to make Agravaine’s appointment official. His uncle was family, raised in a noble household, a trained and capable administrator and, Arthur had thought, loyal.

Yet this man standing here now in his coarse red tunic, worn brown jacket, and absurd blue neckerchief was the one who had truly been loyal. Incredibly loyal, and perfectly capable of taking on far more responsibility than Arthur had yet given him. Merlin had always been honest with him, always given him the truth whether he wanted to hear it or not. What better advisor and administrator could Arthur hope to find?

The king cleared his throat. “It has come to my attention that I’m not keeping you busy enough, Merlin. I will have to assign you additional daily tasks.”

The dark-haired man raised a brow.

“A true statesman needs to delegate responsibility. Beginning tomorrow, you’ll read my correspondence, handle whatever you feel you can, distribute to Guinevere any of the items that fall under her sphere of duties, and discuss the rest with me. If you find yourself able to manage that regularly, we can set up a schedule where supplicants state their business to you and you can decide whether the matter is worth my court’s time.”

“That sounds like a lot of extra work. What if your armour gets dull or your socks need washing?”

Arthur felt his lips twitch but refused to allow the smile to show. “We can probably reassign a few of those duties to someone better suited to the tasks, who will attend to those duties with care and enthusiasm.”

Merlin grinned. “Well, Sire, if you’re certain that all your personal comforts can be seen to without compromising the high standard of care you have grown accustomed to, I can probably assist you with these other duties.”

“And find someone who will deliver my meals on time.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“And Merlin.” Arthur paused until he had his servant’s full attention. “Try not to look so pleased with yourself.”

“Yes, Sire.”

~

Three months later, Arthur eased himself out of bed, careful to keep the covers tucked around Guinevere. The sun spent fewer hours warming the stone of the outer walls, the breezes that crept through crevices were getting colder, and the fire in the hearth had burned low. With a shiver, Arthur flung a robe over his sleeping clothes.

He paused to admire the sight of his queen’s face: smooth and relaxed in sleep, one errant black curl fallen across her cheek. Tenderly, he tucked the loose strand behind her ear. She murmured and he stepped back, hoping he had not disturbed her sleep.

Guinevere had been an immense help to him, assuming many of the duties Agravaine had overseen despite the resentment she faced from those who despised her for her lowly beginnings. She and Merlin both. The two who were valued least by those of higher birth had proved to be his greatest assets and they did so not for any reward a king could give, but out of love and loyalty. Guinevere and Merlin offered honesty and faithfulness while his uncle and his sister had betrayed him and plotted his death.

But for all their support as the kingdom recovered from its recent troubles, Arthur could not rest entirely easy. His sources had not collected a single scrap of information on Morgana’s whereabouts or on whoever was responsible for the deaths of Agravaine and his troop.

Nor had there been any clue to the location of a living dragon other than a cottager dwelling near the city walls who swore to any and all that she had seen a small, white dragon sitting on a tree stump shortly after the battle. Arthur would have found the woman’s story more believable if she had not been stumbling drunk when he questioned her.

Unable to sleep, Arthur made his way through quiet, darkened halls to the armory, tucked his torch into a wall sconce, and stood staring at the shining sword in its special place on the wall. The air was cool and he rubbed his arms, feeling goosebumps under the sleeves of his robe.

Torchlight reflected off metal weapons and chain mail, shadows twisted between the racks of spears, swords, and axes, but the sword on the wall gave off its own faint glow. Arthur’s eyes were drawn to its golden hilt. The sword had called to him the moment he saw it buried in that stone in the woods. He had barely been able to tear his gaze from it to meet the eyes of the people gathered in the clearing to watch him pull a sword from a rock, Merlin’s steady voice giving him strength.

How Merlin had found the blade and set up that display remained a mystery to Arthur; he had tugged on the sword and it had truly been stuck fast in the stone. Somehow Merlin had known it would come loose in Arthur’s hand even though that ridiculous story about Bruta was clearly made up on the spot.

The golden hilt seemed to vibrate. Arthur moved closer and stretched a hand toward the blade.

“Arthur?”

The king jumped and spun around to see Guinevere watching him, her brows raised.

She stifled a yawn. “What are you doing down here in the middle of the night?”

“I …” He nearly came up with an excuse about studying poetry when it occurred to him how absurd that would sound. “I was thinking.”

A smile played around her mouth. “You needed a sword for that?”

He was trying to come up with a suitable response when Guinevere’s brow furrowed and she came to stand beside him. She tipped her head to the side, studying the golden-hilted sword mounted on the wall.

“That’s odd,” she said.

“What is?”

“That sword, it’s one my father made.”

“What?”

Guinevere reached out to touch the blade. “My father made this sword. Said it was the finest he’d ever forged. But,” her fingers ran along the words etched into the hilt, “there was no writing on it.”

“Perhaps it only resembles one your father made.” Tom died a few years ago, so any weapon he forged would have been made at least that long ago. Her memory must have dimmed.

“No.” She took her hand away. “This is definitely the sword he made. I wonder how it got in that stone and who engraved it with these words.”

Arthur was curious about that himself. One side said “Take me up” and the other “Cast me away,” which probably referred to a choice between war and peace, a time to fight and a time to reconcile. The blade was beautifully balanced, a fine sword, worthy of a king. He wanted to know more about this sword that fit his hand so perfectly. “Who did your father sell it to?”

“He never sold it. I gave it to Merlin when he asked.”

For no reason that Arthur could explain his heart skipped a beat, then began to beat double time. “What?”

“Merlin came to me years ago, shortly after he arrived in Camelot, I think it was.” Guinevere’s forehead creased. “He said he needed a sword to save you so I gave him my father’s prized blade. I was worried at first that I would be in trouble with Father, but when he died I put it entirely out of my mind.”

Arthur found his palms were sweating and he furtively wiped them on his tunic. He tried to slow down the thoughts buzzing through his head so fast he could not fully grasp one before another chased it out. Agravaine and his men, dead in the tunnels after Merlin went to distract them. The rest of Agravaine’s troops killed by dragonfire when Merlin went back to cover their trail. Merlin asking Gwen if she was all right after powerful magic had defeated Morgana. Merlin, the only one standing after the Great Dragon had been defeated, telling Arthur he had struck it a mortal blow. Merlin making up a story about a sword in a stone and that sword coming loose as if by magic. Guinevere telling him the Lamia had been frightened of Merlin who was the only man not to have fallen under her spell. Merlin struck down by the Dorocha and then walking into their little camp, alive and well.

The king gave himself a mental shake; what was he thinking? There was no way that Merlin was a sorcerer or could possibly have had any involvement with a dragon, if there were any dragons left alive. The idea was absurd.

Arthur chuckled and Guinevere gave him a curious look. “Well, we’ll have to ask Merlin what he did with your father’s sword. Maybe he’ll tell us how it came to be stuck in that stone.”

“Yes,” she said. “But now you should come back to bed.”

Her head was tilted so a few tight dark curls brushed her shoulder. When his gaze fastened on her face, Guinevere’s brown eyes brightened. She took his hand and backed slowly toward the armory door, pulling him with her. Thoughts of the sword and its strange history faded as Arthur followed.

~

It was nearly a year since his father’s death. Arthur stood in front of the stone tomb with his father’s likeness carved into its lid, four tall candelabra standing sentinel. Dozens of candles were lit on each but the light did little to dispel the damp and coolness of the crypt. Even in summer the stone was cold, and this late in the year autumn’s chill oozed from the walls and floor.

So much had happened since the day his father saved him and then collapsed to the assassin’s blade. His father had been taken away too soon; so many times in the past year Arthur wished he could have asked his father’s counsel. He was certain Uther would not have fallen so completely under Agravaine’s spell. On the other hand, Uther had been as deceived by Morgana’s treachery as Arthur had; he had not been perfect, though he had been a strong ruler. His father rarely asked anyone’s counsel and he never shrank from making a tough decision. He had had confidence and years of experience that Arthur would not match for a long time.

Odin sent the assassin that killed Uther, there was no further doubt, yet the other king was beyond retribution. Arthur would not start a war merely to avenge his father, although if ever there was an opportunity to strike a blow against Odin he would not hesitate to act. And the old sorcerer who had ultimately killed Uther, or failed to save him, remained at large. Arthur’s efforts to find him and bring him to trial had been unsuccessful. The old man never returned to that little hut in the Forest of Glaestig where he had met with Arthur. Of course, a sorcerer of his power would have no trouble disguising himself; he could be within Camelot itself and Arthur would not know.

Gaius knew more about that old sorcerer than he was willing to share, that was certain. _I chose to protect him. I feared you would seek him out and execute him. That would've been a grave mistake. The sorcerer did not kill your father. Uther was dying. He tried everything in his power to save him. Contained within this great kingdom is a rich variety of people with a range of different beliefs. One day you will learn, Arthur. One day you will understand...just how much they've done for you_.

Arthur sighed deeply. Soon, he would have a long talk with Gaius and find out exactly what the old physician knew about sorcery in Camelot. Meanwhile, Arthur had a meeting to attend. The council was waiting for its leader.

Just as the king reached the corridor outside the throne room, he saw Gaius and his apprentice turn the corner ahead and disappear into the chamber. Merlin had juggled his new duties for Arthur while continuing to assist his guardian who, as Merlin said, had not entirely regained his strength after his ordeal in the dungeon. Gaius was lucky to have the young man’s help, just as Merlin had been lucky to find a father to replace the one he had not known. They helped and protected each other in ways that Arthur wished he and his father could have done.

Arthur felt the breath leave his lungs. _I chose to protect him. I feared you would seek him out and execute him_. Agravaine’s troop scorched by dragonfire. Agravaine and his men dead without a mark on them. A sword that had been in Merlin’s possession buried in a stone. Morgana’s defeat. Morgana’s lies. Agravaine’s lies. Betrayal. The old sorcerer with familiar blue eyes.

“Sire?”

Arthur forced himself to focus on Leon’s face, but it felt as if he was seeing the knight’s short blond beard and untidy curls through water. It was difficult to breathe. Arthur wondered if he was drowning though he stood on dry land.

He glanced into the chamber beyond. “Is the Council assembled?”

“Yes, Sire,” Leon answered, his face concerned.

Arthur nodded. “Good. Guards.”

Two of the helmeted men standing outside the chamber door, spears held pointing at the roof, immediately stepped forward.

“Come with me.” Arthur led the way into the throne room where his Council was gathered.

Guinevere sat in the tall chair to the left of Arthur’s at the head of the long table. Gaius had taken his seat, Merlin stood off to the side. The unreal feeling of being under water intensified when Arthur’s gaze met his servant’s blue eyes. Eyes that hid secrets Arthur was only beginning to suspect.

Confusion crept into those eyes at what Merlin saw in the king’s face. Everyone in the room turned to Arthur and the two guards behind him.

He stepped aside and pointed toward Merlin. “Arrest him.”

“What?” Merlin’s eyes were wide now.

Guinevere’s mouth dropped open. Gaius put a hand on his heart. All the other council members stared between the king and his servant as two guards took hold of Merlin’s arms and waited for further instruction.

“Arthur, what’s going on?” Merlin asked.

Without answering, Arthur took his seat at the head of the table and seized Guinevere’s left hand in his right. A sideways glance showed her watching him worriedly.

“When Agravaine’s troop chased us into those tunnels and you went back to cover our trail, what did you do?” Arthur demanded of Merlin.

Merlin paled but his voice was cool and steady. “I grabbed a branch to erase our footprints but then I saw fire and heard screaming. It seemed the soldiers weren’t chasing us any more so I darted into the tunnel after you.”

That matched all the information they had. Arthur faltered for a moment, and the next question came out more quietly. “When you went back to distract the ones who followed us into the tunnel, did you see Agravaine?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“Agravaine and a few of his men were not far behind us. I shouted, then I led them on a chase through the tunnels. When I was certain I had lost them, I circled back to you.”

Merlin’s tone was so calm, so steady, that Arthur began to feel foolish. This was Merlin, the one person in the world he could trust, the one who had not betrayed him the way everyone else had, including Guinevere.

Arthur’s breathing slowed and he looked directly into Merlin’s eyes. “Are you telling me the truth?”

The colour drained from the younger man’s face. “No,” he whispered.


	2. Trial

Arthur felt again the sensation of being under water. Sounds were muffled, faces around him wavered. His voice echoed in his ears as if he was shouting down a long, empty tunnel. “What is the truth?”

“Arthur, I …” Merlin’s gaze went past him.

Gaius gave a slight shake of his head.

Arthur’s hands clenched on the arms of his chair. “What is the truth?”

Merlin met his eyes. “I have magic.”

A gasp went around those seated at the Council table. Guinevere’s hand was now squeezing his and her breathing was rapid. The old physician slumped in his chair; his lined face aged a dozen years.

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “What of Agravaine?”

“I tried to get them lost in the tunnels but he and his men cornered me.”

That sounded like the truth and exactly the kind of situation Arthur feared Merlin would end up in when he chased after their pursuers.

“I gave them fair warning, but then I had to kill them.”

 _That,_ on the other hand, did _not_ sound like the man Arthur knew. There had been half a dozen men plus his uncle. All dead, and not a mark on Merlin. Rarely did the younger man sustain a battle injury despite his lack of coordination and training. “How did you survive the Dorocha?”

There was a wry twist to Merlin’s lips. “I was barely conscious; all I remember is reaching out to the stream and calling to the spirits.”

Arthur felt his heart pound. “Spirits?”

“The Vilia. They healed me.”

“How did you call them?”

Merlin gave a tiny shrug. “I don’t know really. I reached out with my magic and I felt them answer.”

“The Lamia,” Gwen whispered.

Arthur’s head snapped toward her.

The blood had drained from her face as she stared at Merlin. “She was afraid of you.”

“Yes,” Merlin answered quietly.

Gwen was wide-eyed. “What happened in the corridor with Morgana?”

“I saw her draw back her sword to strike you, so I struck at her first. It was more power than I intended but it happened so quickly.” Merlin’s gaze was pleading but his voice was steady, maybe even relieved. “Where she went after, though, I truly don’t know.”

“Agravaine’s troops?” Arthur asked.

Merlin’s eyes darted in Gaius’s direction again before meeting his. “I called the dragon to stop them from hunting us or hurting anyone in Ealdor.”

There was another collective gasp in the room. This time it was Geoffrey who placed a hand on his heart.

Arthur kept his eyes on his servant’s face. “What dragon, Merlin?”

“The Great Dragon. Kilgharrah. The one that used to be chained below Camelot. The one I set free.”

The sensation of being under water changed to one of being encased in a raging fire, surrounded by screams. For three days he had watched his knights bravely face the fire-breathing monster from the sky, not knowing which of them would die that night, followed by three months of mourning and rebuilding. The lame and injured still lived on the city streets.

“You sent that monster to attack Camelot?”

“No.” Merlin’s pale face was now flushed. “I set him free, but I tried to stop his attack.”

Arthur stared open-mouthed. “You set a fire-breathing monster free and then hoped to stop his attack?”

“He helped me; he’s my friend.”

There were no words to respond to that. In his mind Arthur saw the towers of Camelot cracked and smoking from the dragon’s assault. Then he remembered the huge Tomb of Ashkanar crumbling into dust and Merlin running to safety.

“What happened to the egg?”

Merlin looked puzzled.

“The dragon’s egg?” Arthur asked more forcefully. “Was it really crushed when the tomb collapsed?”

“No. I rescued the egg.”

His father had nearly rid the world of such monsters, now one was escaped and another poised to spawn more death and terror. “Where is the egg now?”

Merlin shook his head.

“Where is it?” Let him prove his sincerity by turning over the evidence of this treachery.

“It hatched.”

“Hatched?” Hundreds of years that egg had been locked in the tomb, and now it hatched? “How can that be?”

“I hatched it.”

Arthur struggled to draw breath. “There are now two of these monsters flying around the Five Kingdoms?”

Merlin nodded.

All his father’s work to rid the land of those monsters, undone by a few reckless acts of one sorcerer. A traitor who disguised himself as a friend, or as an old man when it suited him.

Arthur stood. Slowly he approached Merlin who watched him nervously. “Are you the sorcerer who killed my father?”

“Yes, but, I tried to heal him.”

“You tried to heal him so that when I became king I would lift the ban on magic?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what you wanted all along, that’s why you stayed by my side?”

“Yes, but –”

“Enough!” How dare the lying traitor assume he could excuse his actions, excuse anything he had done.

Arthur’s hand clenched at his waist where his sword hilt normally was. The fire he felt raging around him roared in his ears and he was tempted to stop the excuses, the lies with the thrust of a blade. He felt exactly as he had when he saw his uncle stride forward to join Morgana’s attacking forces. Was there no one in the entire world Arthur could trust not to betray him?

Merlin’s pale face was in front of him, his nervous gaze fixed on Arthur’s face. “Arthur, please believe me –”

“Save your lies and excuses for your trial.” Arthur gestured at the guards holding Merlin. “Take him to the cells.”

For a moment, Merlin did not move even though the guards tugged on his arms. Arthur had never seen that look in his servant’s good-natured face before, a look that made Arthur take a step backward. Then it was gone, replaced by an expression of such hopelessness that Arthur felt guilty before anger and resentment drowned the flash of sympathy.

The king watched as Merlin, head hung and shoulders slumped, walked from the Council room between his guards. Arthur took his seat and fixed Gaius with a steady stare.

“Sire,” the old physician began.

Arthur held up one hand and Gaius closed his mouth. “Are you going to plead ignorance of your ward’s abilities?”

Gaius folded his hands on the table in front of him, the wide sleeves of his red robe making the wrinkled wrists look thin and frail. “No, Sire.”

“Camelot still needs a physician. However, I cannot have anyone untrustworthy as part of my Privy Council. You are dismissed.”

The old man bowed his head in submission before his chin snapped up and he fixed Arthur with a stern look. “The boy loves you, Arthur. He has sacrificed much to keep you safe.”

“I am aware that you would do anything to protect the boy, even to giving up your own life. You will pardon me if I doubt anything you might say about him.”

The old man’s jaw clenched but he said nothing more as he got slowly to his feet, gave a stiff bow, and left the room.

Gaius’s departure broke the stunned silence that had held the remaining Council members in thrall through successive revelations. The moment he left, they broke into a clamour of frightened and angry disagreements, each trying to drown out the others.

“A sorcerer!”

“How many years?”

“He’s had access to every corner of the citadel.”

“Every corner of the kingdom.”

“No one is safe.”

“Who knows what he’s done!”

“Who knows what he’s capable of?”

“Sire.” Cador’s voice carried over the uproar. “Can the cells hold him?”

The question struck Arthur with the force of a blow. Merlin had spent time in the cells before, in the stocks, and had not escaped. As far as anyone knew.

Uncertainty struck all of those around the table and they exchanged anxious glances.

“What might he do?”

“What if he attacks the city?”

“We might all be murdered in our beds.”

Arthur wanted to scoff at the thought of Merlin as a threat to Camelot or any of them. After all, the boy had lived among them for years, but … but if he no longer believed there was any hope of the law changing might he turn against them the way Morgana had? The bodies outside Ealdor had been described in detail: burned corpses with charred hands clasped around useless weapons, Agravaine and those who took cover in the tunnels all had broken necks. Not a single survivor and Merlin without a mark on him. And Arthur recalled the devastation the dragon had wrought on the city the last time it attacked, when there had been only one living dragon.

The voices of frightened old men continued around Arthur.

“A dragon …”

“King Uther’s death …”

 “A sorcerer in Camelot, he must be in league with Morgana.”

That idea was absurd, Merlin was the one who had known the truth about Morgana before any of them. Had known and not told anyone, not even Arthur. But was that to protect the kingdom, or to protect Morgana?

“… poison.”

“Yes, it will be easy enough to arrange.”

The king’s attention was jerked back to the conversation his councillors were holding. A few were nodding agreement to whatever had been said.

“What?” Arthur demanded.

Aguisel’s narrow face framed by thinning salt-and-pepper hair turned to Arthur. “The boy has admitted his guilt, there is no need to wait for a trial to learn his other crimes. If we poison him in his cell he will pose no further threat.”

Arthur’s breath caught at the memory of Merlin lifting a poisoned goblet to his lips, intending to save his master and prince, then falling to the floor, one hand at his throat. Willing to sacrifice himself to protect Arthur. For one reason only, Arthur reminded himself: so that he would become king and allow magic free reign once more.

“Sire, it must be done quickly, before whoever is in league with him learns what has happened.”

“No.”

Several of the grey-haired men around the council table looked at the king in puzzlement.

“No,” Arthur repeated. Merlin was guilty of years of plotting and lying, but he would answer for that at his trial and the king would decide his punishment. It would not be assassination in a dungeon cell. “He is not to be harmed.”

“But, Sire.” Aguisel’s pinched face was frowning. “This boy has fooled us all, even King Uther himself, for years. He must have dozens of allies throughout the city, possibly even a way to contact Morgana. And if he is in league with a dragon we cannot risk –”

“The safety of my people is always my first concern,” Arthur said. “Merlin will not attack Camelot before he has a chance to speak at his trial.”

“And what then, Sire?”

Guinevere’s hand gripped his tightly where it rested on the arm of his chair. She had remained silent, her eyes anguished, her breathing rapid.

Arthur eased his hand out from under hers and stood. “I will render my judgement at the trial.” He left the room, headed for the training ground and demanding that no one disturb him.

~

Merlin sat on the tiny cot, knees drawn up to his chest with his chin resting on them, staring at the dirty straw on the floor of the cell. Unlike the cells he had previously seen the inside of, this one had a bed. He had been given a blanket, though thin and full of holes, and the air moved enough to give relief from the nauseating dungeon smells. He even had the luxury of a chamber pot.

He had considered and discarded the idea of blasting open the cell door and confronting Arthur immediately rather than waiting for a trial. Such a display of power would do little to convince the king he was not a threat. Better to wait until Arthur was ready to listen. If he would ever be ready to listen.

For the hundredth time, Merlin berated himself for not having told the truth earlier. If he had picked a time, any time, explained it all to Arthur, made him understand instead of waiting until the king jumped to the wrong conclusion. Or the right conclusion for the wrong reasons. So many chances to speak, so many times since Uther’s death the words had been on the edge of Merlin’s tongue, wanting desperately to spill out, and he had held back.

Now it was too late to choose the time, too late to break it to Arthur gently. Now Merlin had to defend himself and his actions when the king thought the worst. It was going to be that much harder to show him it had all been for Arthur’s benefit.

“Merlin.”

His head snapped up at the beloved voice to see the white-haired man standing with hands folded in front of his embroidered red robe. Merlin blinked a few times in the dim, smoky illumination from a single torch held by the guard behind Gaius. The helmeted face eyed them both suspiciously.

“Gaius.” Merlin got to his feet and approached the metal bars that separated his cell from the hall where the old man stood. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Merlin.”

“It is. I should have told him earlier, made him understand.”

The physician heaved a sigh. “Perhaps we have both been overly cautious. But it doesn’t matter now. The king has arranged for your trial tomorrow morning, and you should know that word spread quickly after the Council meeting. I fear there may be a great number of people present tomorrow who have already decided you are in league with Morgana, or rather she was in league with you.”

“Arthur doesn’t believe that, does he?”

A troubled expression settled on the wrinkled face. “I’m afraid I have no idea what Arthur is thinking. I’ve been dismissed from the Council and he has been unwilling to speak with me since.”

Merlin’s stomach clenched. “I’ll tell them you had no knowledge about any of this.”

Gaius shook his head. “Arthur is aware that I knew about you and sheltered you.”

Merlin opened his mouth but Gaius cut across his protests.

“I am quite willing to face the consequences of my actions. Arthur deserves that much truth, from both of us.”

Cold metal touched his forehead as Merlin closed his eyes and leaned against the bars. “Yes.”

~

Arthur sat at the table in his bedchamber, turning the golden hilt of the sword in his hands over and over, staring at the shining blade as if it held answers to questions he had not yet fathomed.

For as long as he could remember, he had watched his father rule alone, trusting no one, and had determined there must be a better way. Arthur believed it was fear instead of strength that isolated his father. He refused to accept his father’s warning that everyone close to the throne had an agenda, that each one would demand something from the crown. As much as Arthur loved and respected his father, he had decided to rule the kingdom in his own way, to put faith in those he trusted, and he had. Camelot had paid a high price.

Morgana had brought the kingdom to its knees repeatedly. Agravaine set fire to the city and let barbarians inside the walls. Even Guinevere, whom Arthur loved above all others, had brought shame on him and on his kingdom with her betrayal. Through it all Merlin had been Arthur’s rock, the person lifting him up in his darkest hours, the person he could count on, always by his side, never asking anything in return. So he had believed.

His only consolation now was that even his father had not seen through Merlin’s disguise. Despite Uther’s swift and uncompromising attitude to any hint of magic, he had laughed with the others when Merlin burst into the Council chambers and announced he was a sorcerer. And Uther’s reaction was as sceptical as anyone’s when the witchfinder pointed a finger at the boy.

Arthur’s chamber door opened and he looked up to see Guinevere standing on the threshold. Her eyes took in the sword in his hands and the supper plates laid out beside him, food untouched.

She came forward and seated herself on the arm of his chair to place one hand on his shoulder. “You’ve not eaten.”

“I’ll eat in a little while, I promise.”

“Gaius asked to speak with you.”

Arthur ground his teeth together. “It’s late. Whatever he has to say can wait for another day.”

Guinevere’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Are you going to speak with Merlin privately before … before the trial?”

Was she here to plead her friend’s case? Gwen and Merlin were close friends, perhaps she had even known about the magic. She had seemed shocked at Merlin’s confession, but Guinevere had fooled him before: he had not so much as suspected there was anything more between her and Lancelot when the handsome knight returned from the dead.

The king shook his head. “No.” What Merlin had to say he could say to the court.

“Perhaps you should delay the trial until you have an opportunity to come to terms with Merlin’s confession, so that your mind will be clear when you confront this situation in public.”

“My mind is clearer now than it has been in many years.”

Her brow furrowed and he looked away from her, eyes drawn again to the golden hilt in his hands as his thumb rubbed across the engraving.

“It’s late, Guinevere. You should get some rest.”

“We both should.” She stood and moved toward the bed they had shared since their wedding night.

“I may be up for a while. It might be best if you slept in the queen’s chamber tonight.”

The hurt expression on her face made his chest clench but he kept his expression neutral.

“Arthur –”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Guinevere.”

~

A flock of butterflies had taken up permanent residence in Merlin’s stomach. Despite his attempt to shut out the regrets and what-ifs filling his mind the previous night, he had slept only fitfully, waking several times, hair plastered damply to his forehead and his breathing fast and shallow. He had imagined or dreamt every possible reaction Arthur may display at the trial. Merlin had even considered making his friend believe he had been enchanted the previous day and this was all a mistake, but Gaius was right: Arthur deserved the truth.

Merlin held to that conviction as he was escorted from the dungeon, through the palace corridors, to the throne room. When he saw the room filled with people, he was glad Gaius had warned him. A buzz of conversation blanketed the huge hall. The air was close but it was not the dense heat that caused sweat to trickle down his back.

Conversations halted as he passed, to resume behind him in whispers. No one would meet his eyes. People he had known for years, who had cursed his clumsiness or greeted him with smiles turned away from his gaze as if afraid of catching his attention. The only ones not to look away from him were members of the king’s Privy Council who stared back with a mixture of hatred and fear that made Merlin cringe inside.

The guards escorted him to stand directly in front of the raised dais where Arthur and Gwen were seated on thrones side by side. Gwen’s wary expression when her gaze fell on him cut at his heart.

Arthur met his eyes steadily without a hint of what he was thinking as he fired a series of questions. They went through the same events that had been brought up at the Council meeting the previous day: Agravaine’s murder, Morgana’s defeat, Uther’s death, the Dorocha, the Lamia, the dragon that had been unleashed on Agravaine’s troop and how it had come to be free.

“Did you intend that monster to attack the city?”

“No.” Merlin put every bit of sincerity into the denial.

“Did you know it would?”

Hesitation, then. “I knew what might happen but I thought I could stop it.”

The buzz of talk in the room grew louder and Merlin could feel fear turning to anger.

“Are you in league with Morgana?”

“No.”

“Yet you have already confessed that you were aware of her changed loyalties but chose not to expose her.”

“I couldn’t reveal her treachery without revealing …”

“Your secret? You endangered us all by concealing her allegiance to protect yourself?”

“I had to keep my secret to stay here, to protect you.” Surely Arthur could understand that.

“You intended to stop Morgana by yourself the way you intended to stop the dragon?”

“Yes.”

There was a barely perceptible shake of Arthur’s head. “Why did you try to stop them?”

“For you.”

“So that I would be king? A king sympathetic to you?”

Merlin held Arthur’s gaze desperately, willing him to see, to understand. “Yes, and because I’m your friend.”

There was a flicker of something behind Arthur’s cold expression, or maybe Merlin only imagined it.

“If you were truly a friend, why wait to tell me the truth? My father has been gone for almost a year, yet still you hid your secret. Was that in my best interest, or yours?”

For the first time since the questioning began, Merlin had no answer.

Arthur stood and slowly drew his sword. Merlin’s eyes widened at sight of a golden hilt etched with words that spelled out a choice: peace or war. The king tossed the blade and it rang against the slate floor as it skidded to a stop at Merlin’s feet.

He clenched and unclenched his fingers, forcing himself not to rescue the beautiful sword from such disrespectful treatment. Merlin lifted his eyes to the king standing above him.

“How did this sword get into that stone?”

Merlin lifted his chin. “I put it there.”

“Why?”

“It was waiting for you.”

Arthur caught his breath before his eyes narrowed. “Is it magic?”

“The sword has great power. It was forged in a dragon’s breath.”

Those closest to the weapon flinched, though a few people pressed forward for a better look.

Merlin kept his gaze on Arthur, watching as the king’s eyes flicked briefly to the sword.

“And your purpose in putting this weapon in my hand was to trick me into accepting an item of magic?”

“No.”

“Your purpose has always been to see me on the throne in the expectation that I would lift the ban on magic and thereby set you and your kin free?”

“Yes. But –”

“You hoped to have a place in this kingdom at my side once magic was practiced again?”

“Yes.”

A sardonic grimace twisted the corners of Arthur’s mouth. “I presume you planned to take a more prestigious position than that of my manservant?”

“I’m proud to be your servant, Arthur, until the day I die.”

The king’s closed expression faltered for the first time since Merlin had been brought to stand in front of him. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Sorcery is illegal in Camelot, banned on pain of death. By your admission you are guilty of this crime so your life is already forfeit.”

Merlin felt his insides screaming in protest and he was surprised that outwardly he made no sound. He thought he heard Gwen gasp but the roaring in his ears drowned out everything in the great hall except Arthur’s voice.

“However, I find myself moved to mercy in this case.” There was a wry twist of self-loathing in the king’s face. “You are banished from Camelot, never to return. If you are sighted within the borders of my kingdom you will be put to death.”

“No. Please. Arthur.”

Merlin’s words sounded faint in his own ears but the king must have heard because the muscle in his jaw twitched again.

“Take that sword with you. I do not condone the use of magic.”

Merlin’s head dropped. He felt the pull of the blade’s power but raised his gaze back to the king’s face. Although that hilt was as familiar to his hand as his book of magic, although the blade hummed with power that called to him to take it up, the sword was Arthur’s now.

“No. The sword is for you. Even if you never change your mind about magic, about,” Merlin swallowed, “about me, this sword is yours.”

Then he turned his back on the sword, on Arthur and Gwen, and walked sightlessly through the press of people crowding the hall, no longer noticing how they shrank away from him. He had not even seen Gaius in the room, though he knew his guardian would have been there. Merlin passed outside, down the palace steps, across the courtyard, beyond the city wall, and through the lower town. He found himself on the worn tracks outside the main gate; tracks that had brought him to the city full of hope so long ago.

He paused, looking around uncertainly. He had not taken anything with him, not clothes or food or even the tiny wooden dragon his father carved for him. He felt as if time had slowed around him, though it was not his magic but only his thoughts frozen inside his head. People passed by him coming and going from the city, baskets full and baskets empty, and more than one cart driver cursed at him for standing in the midst of traffic, not moving.

Then he felt hands take him by both arms, hands more gentle than the rough shoves of annoyed passersby. The hands steered him off the road onto the grassy area beneath the trees.

“Sit down, my boy.”

Merlin stared at the wrinkled hands that gripped his right arm. “Gaius?” He wrapped his arms around the white-haired old man and felt the familiar red robe enfold him in a hug. He stepped back when he remembered how weak the physician had been and how easily he tired if he stood for too long. “You should sit down.”

“You should both sit down, my friend.”

“Gwaine.” Merlin turned to his left to give the dark-haired knight a one-armed hug and pat on the back and receive both in return.

Then Merlin helped Gaius to sit on the ground with his back against a tree trunk and sank down beside him.

Gwaine set down two large packs before dropping to a crouch in front of him, a worried expression on his normally easy-going face. He was wearing his boiled-leather armour rather than chain mail and his well-used black jacket rather than the red cape which had come to look natural on him.

A clatter of hooves against packed dirt grew louder and they looked up to see several members of a Camelot patrol returning to the city.

“Merlin, my friend, we should go,” Gwaine said as he straightened.

“Where are we going?” Merlin asked as Gwaine pulled him to his feet.

The knight looked at him for a moment, brow furrowed, then held one finger up to feel the breeze. “That way,” he pointed.

Merlin nodded and looked down at Gaius, still seated on the ground.

The old man reached out a hand for Merlin to help him up, then he enfolded his ward in another hug. “I’m going to miss you, my boy.”

Merlin felt tears gather at the realization that he was not going to see his guardian, his foster father, for a long time, if ever again. He tried to respond but the words choked him so he silently clenched his arms tighter around the frail form under the red robe.

When they finally drew apart, one wrinkled hand brushed at a tear on Merlin’s cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

Merlin squeezed the thin shoulders beneath his hands. “You take care, Gaius. I’ll be in touch, I promise.”

Gwaine slung both the packs he had carried over his shoulder.

“I’ll take one of those.” Merlin reached out but Gwaine indicated a smaller bag still resting on the ground.

“You can carry the food and medical supplies Gaius packed for us.”

“Medical supplies?” Merlin sent a puzzled glance toward the physician.

“You have learned enough to bargain your skills as a healer in exchange for shelter.” A spark of pride shone in the old man’s eyes beneath the sadness of their parting.

Merlin straightened his shoulders and gave a slight nod. “Thank you, Gaius.”

As he and Gwaine walked further into the woods away from the well-travelled road entering the city, Merlin looked back over his shoulder to see his guardian standing where they had left him, arms tucked into the wide sleeves of his red robe. Merlin lifted one hand and stumbled over a tree root before he turned his attention back to where he was going, keeping his eyes fixed on Gwaine’s back as they walked further and further from Camelot.

~

They stopped at the bank of a stream wide enough and swift enough for the water to be clear but small enough to ford easily. Merlin opened the pack he carried to find bread and cheese while Gwaine refilled both their waterskins.

The sun had crossed over their heads so it must be past midday, though Merlin had no sense of time having passed. He was thirsty but the food did not look appealing. He passed the bundle to Gwaine in exchange for a full waterskin.

“You should eat,” Gwaine said. “To the best of my knowledge you haven’t eaten since yesterday.” He crouched in front of Merlin and held out a piece of bread.

That was probably true. Merlin tried to remember yesterday but it felt like his life before this hike through the trees was a dream, nothing was real except putting one foot in front of the other, following the dark-haired knight.

“Should you be here?” Merlin asked as he dutifully bit into the bread.

One dark brow raised. “Where else would I be?”

“Playing soldiers. You swore an oath to protect Camelot’s king, to protect the kingdom.”

Gwaine’s expression darkened in a way Merlin had not previously seen. “I won’t follow a king who banishes the only friend he has.”

“But you swore an oath.”

“You think that means anything to me?”

“Yes.” Merlin’s eyes searched the face across from him half hidden under locks of long dark hair, a mustache, and a stubble-coated chin. For the first time in two days Merlin felt certain of something. “You’re a knight now, what you were always meant to be, and you are pledged to protect Arthur.”

“Who’s going to protect you?”

A chuckle escaped Merlin. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

Gwaine opened his mouth before his brow furrowed and he closed it again.

Merlin set aside the waterskin and the bread and stretched out one hand to grasp his friend’s arm. “You have to protect Arthur when I’m not there to do it. To keep Camelot safe.” When Gwaine hesitated he added, “Please, for me.”

The dark-haired knight stared at him for a long moment, then he grasped Merlin’s forearm in return and gave a sharp nod. He glanced up at the sky. “I’d better be heading back then.”

“Here.” Merlin picked up the bread and cheese and held it out.

Gwaine looked down at the food. “You eat that.” He fixed the younger man with a stern look. “As a matter of fact, I’m not leaving until you do.”

“It will be dark before you get back as it is.”

“Then you better eat quickly.”

~

As Gwen approached the Council room door, balancing a tray of food and pitcher of wine with practiced ease, one of the helmeted guards moved to bar her entry to the council chamber.

“The king said he was not to be disturbed.” He made no effort to bow.

Gwen squared her shoulders under the silk dress she was not used to wearing and looked the man directly in the eye. “You will let me pass.”

“The king’s orders –”

“I am the queen. Stand aside.”

For a moment the guard stared at her from under the helmet which concealed his hair, forehead, and nose. Gwen wondered if he intended to defy the serving-girl-turned-queen, but at length he dropped his gaze, stood aside, and opened the door for her. Gwen swept past him without allowing her relief to show.

Arthur sat at the table which was covered in piles of parchment, quill and ink untouched beside him, his head in his hands. His tousled blond hair showed how often his fingers had raked through it. The loss of colour in his complexion and lines etched around his eyes and mouth emphasized his resemblance to his father.

“Arthur,” Gwen said softly, though her voice sounded loud in the still and silent chamber.

The blond head jerked up before Arthur busied himself with quill and parchment.

Gwen set the tray by his elbow. “It’s nearly dark and you’ve not eaten yet today.”

Arthur looked up from his papers to give her a thin smile and dutifully tore off a tiny bit of bread. “Thank you, Guinevere.”

He swallowed the bread but Gwen frowned when he ignored the chicken legs and refilled his goblet instead. The candle beside him had burned to a stub so she took up a fresh one to replace it.

Arthur’s hand shot out to grab her wrist before she could remove the guttering candle. “A servant will tend to that, Guinevere. There is no need for you to deliver food, either. Next time send one of the maids.” His mouth twisted wryly. “Surely we have enough servants left for that.”

“Arthur –”

“I appreciate your concern, Guinevere, but please, I need some time alone.”

She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off again.

“I promise I will eat.”

He was not angry with her, not the way he had been when he banished her, not even cold the way he had been when they fled Ealdor together. Instead his face remained impassive. She wanted to put her arms around him, to listen while he poured out his doubts and fears, to offer and receive comfort for her pain as well as his, but he had rarely been one to share his feelings. She loved him, anyway, though it hurt to be shut out.

With a sigh, Gwen set down the candle and moved toward the door. She paused on the threshold to look back. “I will see you later tonight, then.”

“Perhaps.” He made an effort to send her a smile but it barely touched his mouth and his eyes remained bleak. “Do not wait up for me, Guinevere.”

She squashed her disappointment at being asked to sleep alone again tonight, gave her husband a sad smile, and left him by himself as he had asked.

Gwen expected to find Gaius in his chamber. She also expected he would be sad at the loss of his surrogate son, maybe even angry, but she did not anticipate utter devastation when the old man lifted his head from his arms to see her standing at his door. He looked as tired and broken as when they carried him from the cell Morgana had locked him in with Elyan and Gwaine. His lined face appeared ancient.

Her questions backed up in her throat and instead of demanding answers as she had intended, Gwen walked over to pour a cup of water and sat beside the old man on his bench while he drank it.

“Is he … is he all right?” she asked quietly. A twinge of guilt tweaked her conscience. Merlin had been there for her when she struggled to lift the hand cart that held all her possessions, steering the cart out of Camelot, leaving the only home she had known and nearly everyone she held dear, but today she had not been there to see him leave. “Is he gone?”

Gaius set down the cup and stared at into it. “He and Gwaine left this morning.”

“Gwaine?” But of course, the former sellsword was a friend of Merlin’s. “He’ll take care of Merlin, then?”

A short, sharp laugh escaped from Gaius’s throat. “Merlin can take care of himself.”

“Oh. Right.” Gwen tried to set aside what she knew of Merlin – ordinary, cheerful, gangly Merlin with his odd neck scarves and worn brown jacket and boots – a feat that had eluded her for two days. “It’s all true, isn’t it.” It was not a question. “Did Gwaine know? About Merlin, I mean.”

The old physician shook his head. “No one in Camelot knew except myself and Lancelot.”

“Lancelot?” Lancelot had known and not told her? But then, Merlin had not told her, either. She had been as completely fooled as everyone else. More, perhaps, since she had known him better than most. “He was my friend, Gaius. He seemed like such a lovable person.”

“He is still the same person, Guinevere.”

The sharp tone made her turn a shocked look on the lined face next to her, normally so kind and understanding. “I’m sorry. I only meant that he seemed so … so harmless.”

Gaius passed a hand across his face. “I am the one who should be sorry. It was not my intention to snap at you like that.” He patted her shoulder. “How is Arthur?”

Gwen looked down at her hands as they fiddled with the fine lace which trimmed her satin gown. “He wanted to be alone. I know he’s hurting, Gaius, but he won’t talk to me.”

The old man squeezed her shoulder and leaned closer. “I know you are hurting, too, Gwen. Please know that Merlin never intended anyone to suffer because of his secret. That is partly why he waited so long to tell the truth.”

“It’s just –”

They both looked up when the door to the physician’s chamber swung open. Gwen was surprised to see Gwaine but Gaius merely sighed.

“He sent you back already?”

The knight tossed long, dark hair back over his shoulder. “Yes. Some gibberish about oaths and protecting King Arthur.”

One white eyebrow raised. “Gibberish?”

“Well, there may have been some truth in it.” Gwaine’s deceptively keen glance searched the lined face. “I made sure he ate and was a safe distance from the city. He’ll be fine, Gaius.”

White hair swung forward to hide the old man’s face as his chin dropped, but he nodded.

“My lady, are you all right?”

Gwen’s startled gaze moved to Gwaine’s sympathetic face. “Yes. Thank you, Sir Gwaine.”

The knight regarded her for a moment and then gave her a bow. “Can I escort you to your quarters, my lady?”

She glanced at Gaius but he looked so beaten that she could not bring herself to interrogate him further. Besides, Gwaine had not known the truth about Merlin despite their friendship and perhaps he would understand her fear and uncertainty better than Gaius.

With a final squeeze of the old man’s thin shoulder and a murmured farewell, Gwen left the physician seated on his bench and allowed Gwaine to escort her from the chamber.

When they were alone in the corridor, she turned to him. “What did you think, when you heard? I mean about Merlin?”

The knight shrugged and gave her a speculative look. “I wasn’t entirely shocked, and to be honest I don’t think Percival was, either. Something that Lancelot let slip once, well, I think he might have known.”

“He did. Gaius told me that just now,” Gwen said softly.

Gwaine nodded. “Ah.”

“But were you … did it change how you saw him?” Her eyes searched his face, looking for any trace of the fear and doubt that had plagued her since Merlin’s revelations in the council meeting.

“Not really. Although I decided never to play dice with him again.”

The surprise of that comment shocked a laugh from her. Gwen tipped her head to the side as she regarded the good-looking rogue who had flirted shamelessly with her on their first chance meeting. She had seen him fight in the tournament, knew from Arthur’s praise how skilled a fighter the sellsword-turned-knight was, had seen and heard him swagger around the citadel boasting of exploits with weapons and women, but she also knew he had a kind and noble heart. Suddenly she found herself pouring out her fears about magic and sorcerers, her shame about being so completely fooled by someone close to her, her doubts about what was real and what was an act and why Merlin had lied to her.

For all his constant chatter, Gwaine was a good listener. He offered neither judgement nor advice as she talked. By the time they left the silent, darkening corridor outside the physician’s workroom to walk toward her own chamber, Gwen felt that a tightness in her chest had eased even though her questions had yet to be answered.

When they reached the door to the queen’s apartment, Gwen laid one hand on the dark-haired knight’s arm and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

She was surprised by the faint blush that tinged his face under the dark stubble.

“It was my honour, my lady.” He took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

Gwen smiled at the courtly bow he gave her, her first genuine smile in days, and gave him a queenly nod of acknowledgement in return.

When she turned to enter her room, she saw the king standing at the end of the corridor, watching them.

~

Arthur was nearly to his chamber, his eyes smarting from candle smoke and too much time spent poring over reports he could not focus on. At length he had decided there was no point in staring at words his mind was incapable of processing and he determined that he would seek out his wife. They had slept apart the previous night for the first time since their handfasting and, despite what he said to her earlier, he had no intention of sleeping alone again tonight or of allowing her to do so. She was hurting, maybe not in quite the same way as he was, but they could comfort each other.

He turned the last corner into the hallway that led to the queen’s chamber and halted to see his wife kiss Gwaine. The knight returned her gesture by kissing her hand and Arthur saw Guinevere smile in a way he had not witnessed for at least two days, her head tilted up to look at the handsome knight.

When they saw him, the king locked down the feelings of jealousy and betrayal he knew were unworthy of either his wife or his knight along with his longing for company this evening. Gwaine, he noted, was not wearing the chain mail and red cape of a knight. Arthur was unsurprised when he got a a sardonic nod in place of a properly respectful greeting before the dark-haired man turned and left.

The hopeful smile vanished from Guinevere’s pretty face and she was watching him anxiously as he approached her. “Arthur.”

He forced the corners of his mouth up and bent to brush his lips across her cheek. “Good night.”

He felt her eyes on his back as he proceeded down the corridor to his own room, leaving her standing alone outside the door to her chamber.


	3. Capture

Merlin topped a slight rise of ground and the forest abruptly ended at a sharp drop-off covered with short, scrubby brush. It was a bright autumn day and the sun’s warmth lay heavy on his shoulders when he left the forest shade. Sunlight illuminated a wide river at the bottom of the steep slope and the thatch on the roof of an inn. A stone bridge connected the inn’s dusty yard with an equally dusty patch of ground on the other bank and well-travelled tracks stretched away north and east from the inn and west on the far side of the river. A stable stood behind the inn. From the smell, there was a barn back there as well and he could hear chickens squawking and flapping.

Merlin’s stomach grumbled and he fingered the few coins in his pouch. He had been lucky to sell several remedies and ointments at the last town he visited, but the brisk business meant that few of the preparations Gaius had sent remained in Merlin’s pack. He would have to spend the next day or two herb-gathering before he could make more salves to trade. Meantime, he had enough coins to buy a meal today. It was possible, too, that someone at the inn would need remedies or healing services and he would be able to save his store of coins. He had no idea how long this journey would be or even where he was going.

He lifted a hand to shade his eyes as he regarded the roads leaving the inn. So far he had been walking east, the direction Gwaine had originally chosen. If Merlin kept going, he would reach the border with Essetir and shortly thereafter, Ealdor. He could see his mother. He wondered why the thought of returning to a place that had been home for most of his life was so unappealing. It was a logical destination, another kingdom but a place he could be found if Ar… if anyone was looking for him. The thought that no one from Camelot would ever come looking for him was too depressing. Shifting his packs further up on his shoulder, Merlin made his way down the slope carefully to find out what food and mead the inn offered.

The stable around back was inhabited so he was not surprised to find several other travelers seated at trestle tables in the common room. Two men in a corner talked in low voices. A larger group was having an animated exchange interspersed with loud thumps when one slammed a tankard on the wooden tabletop.

The sight of full mugs and the smell of hot grease made Merlin’s mouth water and his stomach protested again. He sat on a wooden bench at an unoccupied table that looked mostly clean and shrugged out of his jacket in the overly warm room.

A heavyset woman wearing an apron tied over a dress of light blue cotton approached him. Her grey-and-black hair was tied back from her face except for several loose strands plastered to her damp forehead.

Merlin gave her his usual story of being a traveling healer. He spoke loudly enough to satisfy the curiosity of the others in the room who had paused in their conversations to glance his way.

“A healer?”

The interested glint in her eyes told him he may have a customer.

“Perhaps you can take a look at my man’s arm. It was burned in the cookfire a few days ago and it’s not healing the way it ought.”

He had just enough ointment to treat a burn if he was sparing with the valerian and nard, provided it was not infected. “I would be happy to help in exchange for a meal and something to drink.”

“We’ve roast chicken and there’s bread baked this morning. I’ll bring you a pitcher of mead, too, and you can check his arm after your meal.” The innkeeper brought Merlin a goblet before hastening back to the hearth, her attention returned to the other customers.

After satisfying their curiosity about Merlin, three of the men at one table and two at the table next to them had gone back to their conversation. It seemed that the group of three had come from Camelot and were passing along news to the other two while sharing a pitcher of ale for the information.

“How can a sorcerer have been living in Camelot for years, right under the king’s nose, and no one the wiser?”

“They say he’s a shape-changer. He could have been hiding there since the Purge and no one would have known.”

“It takes a mighty powerful sorcerer to change his shape.”

“Oh, he’s powerful all right; got it from the demon who fathered him.”

“Bah. That’s just stories.”

“No.” A quiet voice spoke for the first time. “This sorcerer is powerful enough to command dragons. That much is true.” He was one of the group from Camelot. An ear and two fingers of the hand wrapped around his mug were missing; probably he had served as a soldier until his injuries.

“He sent a dragon to burn the city before those barbarians attacked. That’s how Camelot was taken the last time,” his companion added.

A man with a thick red beard snorted. “Dragons are all gone.”

“So we thought.” The man scratched at his missing ear. “But I saw the bodies of the soldiers that chased that sorcerer into Essetir, and I saw Camelot after the last dragon attack, and it was the same destruction. There’s a dragon out there still.”

Silence among all of them lasted for the span of several heartbeats while Merlin averted his eyes, certain they could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

“How did they catch the sorcerer?”

“The king had been enchanted. Once the spell was broken, he revealed the sorcerer who stood up brazen as you please and threw all his evil deeds into the king’s face.”

“Then what happened?”

“They attempted to execute the sorcerer but he froze them all with a wave of his hand and walked out of the city.”

“But then … he could be anywhere in the kingdom.”

There were several nervous glances around the room. Merlin took a deep drink from his goblet.

“What does he look like?”

“An old man, long white hair and beard, red robe.”

“No. He’s young with black hair and black eyes dressed all in black.”

“He wouldn’t travel like an ordinary man, he’d be riding a dragon’s back.”

“Or change into a bird and fly.”

 _That would come in handy_ , Merlin thought wryly _._

The red-bearded man puffed up his chest. “I’m not afraid of any magician. Where I’m from we know how to deal with their sort.”

The quiet-voiced man shook his head, staring into his goblet while turning it slowly between his fingers. “This one is no ordinary sorcerer. He’s a master enchanter and deceiver, never did a good deed in his life, only evil.”

A plate landed on the table under Merlin’s nose and he nearly jumped before he caught himself. He forced a grateful smile onto his face. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy.” The woman gave him a smile that showed a mouth full of chipped, yellow teeth before she bustled off to greet a traveler who had just entered.

The greasy chicken which had smelled so good when Merlin entered the inn was dry as sawdust in his mouth. He was relieved when talk at the other tables turned to weather and the harvest.

As the food and mead settled in his stomach, Merlin felt his spirits rising again. He glanced at the newest arrival, a man wearing a dusty cloak and riding boots splattered with mud kicked up by hooves, seated in a corner of the room. The man smiled and nodded when he caught Merlin’s eyes on him though he did not seem familiar.

After Merlin finished his meal, the innkeeper guided him behind a curtain that separated what was apparently the living quarters from the common room. A man every bit as portly as his wife sat on an upturned barrel, shirtless, nursing his left arm. A little girl brought him a cup of water and settled on a nearby pallet to watch as Merlin examined the man’s burned arm.

“He’ll be all right?” the innkeeper asked, hovering at Merlin’s elbow.

“Yes. What happened?” He reached into his pack for a jar of green ointment, listening as the man recounted the accident the previous week which had left his arm blistered and oozing.

“Maybe it was the flying rabbit,” the girl piped up.

The man sent her an indulgent look. “No, poppet, it was the cookfire.”

“There’s no such thing as flying rabbits,” the girl’s mother said firmly. “Silly tales.”

“There’s at least one flying rabbit,” the girl stated calmly. “I saw it.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have chores to keep your mind off wild made-up stories?”

“My mind is busiest when I’m doing my chores, and anyway, I can finish sweeping after I make sure Daddy is okay.” The little girl crossed her legs and propped her chin on one hand with her elbow resting on her knee, her other hand plucking idly at her patched cotton skirt. “The flying rabbit isn’t a story, though. She was sitting on top of the wood pile and she could breathe fire.”

Merlin chuckled. “A fire-breathing, flying rabbit? I’d like to see that.”

The girl frowned. “She didn’t stay long. She flew off and hasn’t come back again even though it’s been weeks and weeks.”

“And she won’t because there is no such thing.” The innkeeper gave her daughter a stern look. “As soon as your daddy’s arm is taken care of, you finish your sweeping and then help him in the stables.” She waggled a finger at her husband. “And make sure she helps. I’ve got work enough that I can’t be chasing after the two of you.”

He chuckled and nodded. The woman left, wiping her hands on her apron as she went.

As soon as she was out of sight, the girl hopped off her seat and sidled closer, leaning to whisper in Merlin’s ear. “There really was a flying rabbit. She was all white with wings like a bat and she sounded like an eagle, except she could talk, kind of.”

Merlin set down the jar of ointment and reached for a clean cloth to wrap around the burn. He winked at the man before giving the girl an incredulous look. “A talking, flying, fire-breathing rabbit. Now even I don’t believe you.”

The girl shrugged. “Nobody except Daddy does. But I saw her. She even told me her name: Aithusa.”

Merlin dropped the bandage, grabbed for it, knocked over his jar of ointment, cursed as the last of its contents spilled on the wooden floor, and retrieved the jar only to knock over the man’s cup of water which dumped its contents onto his trousers.

The man flinched as water soaked his leg.

“Sorry,” Merlin mumbled while he attempted to mop up the spilled ointment, dry the man’s trouser leg, and collect the scattered bandages.

With help from the other two, he eventually cleaned up the mess and finished dressing the burn, thankful the distraction had ended the conversation about Aithusa. He wondered how to get the girl to tell him more without appearing too interested in a child’s made-up tale. Dragons were not beloved creatures and he had no intention of confirming her story or bringing up the subject of either dragons or dragonlords.

He decided he could ask for the girl’s help gathering cress, balsam, and golden moss by the river’s edge and a few other plants in the surrounding forest. Then she could show him where she had seen the white dragon, since it could be no other, and where Aithusa had gone.

He was offered a bed for the night in exchange for treating the burn again the next day. Merlin explained that he would need to make more of the remedy and requested the help of the innkeeper’s daughter to gather supplies.

The little girl, whose name was Elyenora, was only too happy to trade her usual tasks for gathering plants and herbs and chattering to someone new.

As Merlin helped Elyenora stack deadwood they had collected in the forest on their way back from herb-picking, he asked as casually as he could, “The flying rabbit was on the woodpile?”

The girl smiled happily as she returned to her favourite story. “Yes. She sat right there and shrieked at me and I wasn’t scared even a bit. I spoke to her and she told me her name, then I put down my pile of sticks and she lit them like a campfire. I scolded her ’cause I had carried those sticks all the way from the top of the hill but my yell must have made her sad because she flew off.”

“How long ago was this?”

The girl screwed up her face. “Before midsummer. I remember because I picked lilacs as I was gathering the wood.”

“Which way did she go?”

“That way.” The girl pointed north. “The same direction as the lady in black.”

Merlin felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. “What lady?”

The little girl shrugged. “Don’t know.”

When Merlin left the inn the next morning, he headed north.

~

Gaius was nearly to the royal chamber when Sir Elyan stepped into his path.

The usually-friendly knight’s eyes were narrowed. “Where are you going?”

“To speak with the king.” Gaius kept his tone neutral and did not betray his frustration at the way the king, his councillors, and many of his knights had refused to listen to anything the elderly advisor had to say since Merlin’s secret had been revealed.

Gwaine had done all he could to argue in favour of Merlin and, by extension, Gaius for keeping Merlin’s secret, but the knights were fiercely loyal to Arthur. They refused to consider that their king might have acted unfairly.

Elyan was especially torn, seeing his sister hurting and not knowing how to help her. Some of that frustration was directed at Gaius for being unable to erase all Gwen’s doubts. “The king is dining with the queen.”

The physician folded his arms, tucking his hands into the wide sleeves of his embroidered red robe. “Then I’ll speak with both of them.”

Elyan’s full lips compressed but, unless Arthur had given orders to keep the physician away, the knight had no reason to prevent him from approaching the king.

Gaius waited until the knight moved aside and then continued to the royal chambers.

Arthur’s eyes hardened when he looked up to see who had interrupted his supper. He promptly returned his attention to his barely-touched plate without greeting his visitor.

Gaius noted the king’s hollow cheeks and dark patches beneath his eyes. The pasty look of his skin had worsened in the past week. As a physician, he wanted to suggest rest. As a surrogate father, he wanted to grab Arthur by the ear, sit him down, and give him a stern talking to. It was the king’s own stubbornness that was causing him pain, him and those around him judging by Guinevere’s drawn look.

But the blond king was no longer a child so Gaius simply stood without speaking until Arthur finally acknowledged his presence.

The king carefully laid aside his spoon, dabbed his chin with a white cloth and laid it beside his plate, then pushed his chair back from the table and drew himself up to his full height. “Gaius.”

“Sire. My lady.” Gaius nodded at the queen.

Guinevere nodded in return. Her brow was furrowed and she remained seated as her gaze darted between the two men.

“What is it?” Arthur asked.

“Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?”

The king tilted his chin and raised a brow. “What has?”

“This pique. People look to you for leadership, yet you continue to behave like a child.” Years of serving Uther had cultivated a deep caution in Gaius and he was not easily angered but Arthur’s obstinacy was grating on the old man’s frayed nerves.

Arthur’s lips compressed. “You are guilty of treason, a crime you carried on under my father’s nose, apparently for some years. You are pledged to serve the kingdom yet you put the welfare of a stray boy above any concern of loyalty to your king. Be careful what you say to me.”

Gaius’s anger boiled up. “That stray boy showed you more loyalty and devotion than you have earned and brought me more joy than I ever expected to know in my old age. If you would put aside your hurt feelings you would see that.”

“I am a king with – as you pointed out – people looking to me for leadership and their safety comes first. I am not ruled by sentiment, yet I have been more than lenient in this case. Those closest to me are in positions of influence and I must be able to trust them. That group cannot include you or your former ward.”

“How can you question Merlin’s trust in you?”

“Trust is a two-way street,” Guinevere said quietly. “It cannot be given where it has not been received.” She stood and took Arthur’s hand, speaking to him as much as Gaius. “Morgana changed when she shut herself away from me, from Arthur, from all of us. Merlin, too, kept secrets, not only his magic but so many things he did not trust us with. How can I trust him? I don’t even know who he is.”

Gaius felt his anger burn away at Guinevere’s heartfelt plea. “He was waiting for the right time to tell you.”

Arthur was looking into his queen’s upturned face, his expression tender, but at Gaius’s words the king’s gaze snapped up, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “The right time when he could be assured that I would accept magic?”

“That you would accept him for who he is, yes.”

“And me?” Gwen’s lip quivered. “When was he going to tell me? I thought we were friends. I would have granted him anything he asked without question.”

“Guinevere …” Gaius let his voice trail away when he could not find the words to explain how keeping a secret that threatened your life, and the life of anyone who knew, could become so ingrained that revealing it was your deepest fear. And he had played a part in that fear, repeatedly drilling into the boy that he was never to reveal his magic.

Arthur looked at his wife, his brow furrowed. “Guinevere, I’m sorry. I should have realized. Of course, he was your friend, too.”

“It’s okay.” She reached up to cup his face in her hands. “I understand. I know it will take time for you to trust me the way you did before … before what happened with Lancelot.”

“That is no excuse. I said it was all in the past, yet I didn’t live up to that promise.” He tenderly tucked a stray lock of black hair behind her ear. But his expression hardened as he turned back to the physician. “Is there anything more you had to say, Gaius?”

With a deep sigh, the old man shook his head. In time, they would come around. It had taken Arthur many months to get over Gwen’s betrayal but he had, and he would eventually see past Merlin’s perceived lack of faith. It would just take time.

~

Merlin headed north for three days. He crossed the western edge of the mountains of Andor, passed through the Vale of Denaria, and spent the night in a ruined castle near the border between Camelot and Mercia. The last night he would spend in Camelot, maybe forever.

The abandoned castle looked much like the ruin where he and Lancelot had caught up with Arthur and the knights on their journey to the Isle of the Blessed nearly a year ago. The memory of Arthur’s restrained but undeniable joy at the sight of Merlin alive and well pinched his heart.

When morning came, he packed but found himself delaying his departure. He and Arthur had leaned companionably against the log the knights used for a bench, alone by the campfire after the others had fallen asleep. They talked quietly of what they would face when they reached the Isle, of Gwen, and of sacrifice. He had told Arthur that he would sacrifice himself to close the Veil, that Arthur had no reason to worry, and the prince had not believed him. The temptation to confess all right then and there had been strong – to tell of the Cailleach’s invitation, to explain why it was important that Arthur live – but Uther had been alive. In the end Merlin had chosen not to reveal the truth. If he had been honest with Arthur then, when the prince was grateful Merlin was alive after saving him from the Dorocha, perhaps Merlin would not be exiled now. He would never know.

With a heavy sigh, he hoisted his packs on his shoulder and set off north again. Although his eyes repeatedly wandered to the sky, all he ever saw were the dark shapes of noisy crows and an occasional silent hawk. As discreetly as possible, he inquired during his travels about a flying white creature, never using the word “dragon.” So far his only lead was a young goat herder not much older than Elyenora.

The boy scuffed one toe in the dirt of a rocky pasture spotted with green clumps of spiky leaves, not meeting the eyes of the stranger speaking to him. Merlin crouched down to talk softly, knowing the child spent all day every day with a flock of smelly animals and had probably never so much as seen a person outside his own family. He had been limping and Merlin convinced him to allow his leg to be treated. It was a deep cut from a rock caused by a fall chasing after one of the goats.

Merlin cleaned and bandaged the cut. His care earned him a shy expression of appreciation and confirmation the child had seen a white flying creature snatch a rabbit from an open field before heading north. The boy said the prickly yellow gorse favoured by the goats had just begun to flower at the time, which would have been two or three months ago.

“Thank you.” Merlin patted the bandaged leg before the boy hastily got to his feet. “Wait.”

The boy hesitated, though he looked anxious to get back to the goats.

“Was the creature alone?”

The goat herder shook his head and his brown curls bounced. “There was a lady, too, dressed all in black. Even her hair was black.”

“Did she speak to you?”

“I only saw them from across the pasture.”

The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and with a half-smile Merlin indicated he could go. The child promptly hastened toward the herd across the stretch of rocky ground covered with furze bushes, his limp noticeably reduced.

Merlin was both relieved that Aithusa seemed to be fine, even though she was not with Kilgharrah despite having not yet reached the first anniversary of her hatching, and simultaneously worried about the lady in black. She could not possibly be who he feared she might be, because why would the little dragon be accompanying Morgana? Or perhaps chasing her? Or being chased by her?

He puzzled over those questions through the rest of the day’s hike, during his meal, while he laid out a bedroll, and the mystery still plagued him as he settled down to sleep. In the morning, he decided he needed advice.

Although he had hesitated to call Kilgharrah, ashamed to face the Great Dragon and admit he had failed in his destiny, Merlin needed to speak with him now. He had not seen anyone except the goat herder since early the previous day, the rocky ground not being good farmland, so it was safe enough to call the dragon.

Moments after he called, Merlin sheltered his face from the whirlwind kicked up Kilgharrah’s landing. He slowly lowered his arm and met the gold, glowing eyes in the monstrous head high above him.

“Well, young warlock, you are a long way from home.”

The word _home_ stung. “I don’t have a home.”

The great gold eyes blinked. “Ah.”

Merlin squared his shoulders as he stared upwards. “Arthur found out about everything.” His hands flapped in a vague gesture that included himself and the dragon. “He banished me from Camelot.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth but he did not lower his head. “I failed.”

“Not yet, young warlock. Do not give up hope.”

He wanted to believe the Great Dragon, but it was difficult to envision Arthur being the one to free magic now that Merlin had allowed him to think their friendship had been nothing but a lie. Nor could he show Arthur the truth or convince him to change his mind when the king had banished him.

The gold eyes in the huge, alien head blinked again but the dragon said nothing more.

“What of Aithusa?” Merlin asked.

“The little one? Why do you ask?”

Merlin frowned. “Is she with you?”

“No.” Kilgharrah’s minimal answer sounded puzzled rather than cryptic.

“Where is she? Is she all right?”

“I do not know.” The giant head dipped. “She disappeared during the last battle for Camelot.”

“Why didn’t you find her?”

“We are dragons, not tiny squalling humans. Our noble breed does not require constant watching.”

“Then why are you worried?”

A breath of smoke came from the nostrils in the giant head followed by a hollow chuckle. “I cannot reach the little one. She does not respond to my queries though she should be able to hear me no matter how many leagues lie between us. Unless she has flown so far that she crossed the sea, but I doubt such a possibility.”

“I think she headed north, but that was a couple of months ago or more.” Merlin chose not to mention a woman dressed in black with dark hair.

“I am sorry I cannot give you more information. When you find her, send the little one back to me.”

Merlin smiled at the note of worry in the voice which usually knew exactly what to do, even if the dragon did not often speak plainly about what that was. Merlin’s humour faded as he thought of the baby dragon vulnerable and alone. Or vulnerable and not alone.

“I will,” he promised before the Great Dragon spread its gigantic wings and flew away leaving Merlin alone again on the wide expanse of empty, rocky ground.

~

Merlin heard a large group approaching from the north, further up the well-worn road he was following. He moved off to the side, walking through the taller grass which was stiff and dry and beginning to yellow.

Samhain was not far off, then the first anniversary of Uther’s death and Arthur’s coronation, then the first anniversary of Aithusa’s hatching. So many highs and lows, doubts and hopes, joys and sorrows in the past year and never once had he considered he would be alone and homeless as the new year approached. Even on the day of Uther’s death when Merlin had given up hope of Arthur accepting magic, he had imagined life would simply continue on; protecting the king from the shadows, hiding the part of himself no one was allowed to see, waiting for some partly-imagined right time to tell Arthur the truth. How long would he have waited? Until the king was dying? Until it was too late to change anything? If only Merlin had spoken sooner. Arthur had trusted him; he should have trusted Arthur, or at least been brave enough to take the chance.

Two mounted riders came in sight accompanied by a dozen men on foot. The two riders wore pointed helmets with brown scarves wound around their necks and tucked into brass-studded leather breastplates. Their arms were bare but each wore leather wrist guards. Their swords were strapped to their backs with the hilts standing up behind their heads. The foot soldiers had no helmets, only scarves wound around their foreheads and necks, and wore blue-grey tunics slit at the bottom so as not to impede their movement in a fight. Each carried a spear in his hand as well as a sword on his back. Clearly a fighting force, but oddly the tunics had no emblem. The knights of Mercia wore a brighter blue with a tower sigil.

Merlin felt a quiver of unease as he considered whether he was west of Mercia in the territory of Amata. He did not know what their soldiers looked like, since none had been in Camelot in all the years Merlin had been there, not even during tournaments. Arthur had once mentioned the Sarrum, but only to emphasize that none of his people was ever to cross the border into Amata.

Merlin had been curious because the whispers he had heard – no one seemed inclined to speak openly about the Sarrum – said that Amata’s leader was every bit as opposed to sorcery as Uther himself, yet they maintained only an uneasy truce. Merlin had also noted during Arthur’s time as regent and then king that little information was provided about Amata despite its proximity to Camelot. No reports came from the Sarrum’s territory while correspondence both official and unofficial regularly arrived from every other kingdom, ally or not.

One of the two mounted riders was looking directly at Merlin, a slight smile on his face. He nodded familiarly and Merlin wondered where he had seen the man before. It was only after the group had disappeared leaving a settling cloud of dust to mark their passage that he remembered the man who had entered the inn in Camelot four days ago. So Amata kept a closer eye on Camelot than Camelot kept on Amata, if that was where the man was from. Merlin committed the man’s face to memory so he would notice him if he returned to Camelot before Merlin recalled that he was not going to be in Camelot ever again.

He shook that painful thought away. What mattered now was tracking Aithusa and making sure the little dragon was well and safe. Maybe she would want to keep him company after he found her. It would be good to have another living creature to talk to, especially one with magic, one he could be himself with.

A patch of feathery leaves on tall stalks with a powerful odour made his nose wrinkle. Although it was past the season when the tiny lemon-yellow flowers bloomed, rue was hard to find and would be useful to have. While Merlin collected the rue, he gathered up several handfuls of hairy milfoil nearby, the plants relatively healthy though it was past the time of their flowering, and stuffed them into the pouch at his side on top of the herbs he had collected with Elyenora. He had a good stock of remedies now, enough to back up his claim to be a traveling healer should he meet anyone or come upon a village. Although, if this was Amata, perhaps it would be wiser to keep to himself.

Merlin glanced back down the roadway and decided it may be best to travel a less well-used road. There was no reason to think that anyone outside of Camelot would know who and what he was, but if this was Amata and the Sarrum was as fanatical about magic users as Uther, it made sense to use discretion.

With a final look back over his shoulder to confirm the riders and their escort were nowhere in sight, Merlin set off deeper into the wooded area beyond the road.

~

With a word, the campfire blazed up and Merlin held his hands out to warm them before he dug into his pack for food. As the sun had dropped lower, the temperature dropped with it. The sky was cloudless and the heat of the day quickly dissipated though a million points of light decorating the sky. A curved slice of the moon was white in the east though the sky remained light in the west. An owl hooted as she began her nightly hunt.

Merlin uncapped his waterskin but paused with it partway to his mouth, wondering why he felt as if he was being watched. Slowly, he lifted the skin and took a deep drink of water, eyes and ears alert to the darkening woods around him.

There was a plop and a tiny fountain of sparks in the campfire. His gaze snapped to the fire. Two of the sticks in the centre had collapsed inward and a bright blaze flared up but the smoke was blacker than it should be. Merlin’s eyes watered and he coughed.

He dropped the skin and was reaching for a stick to poke at whatever was blazing so brightly in the fire when the first volley of crossbow bolts hurtled towards him. Merlin raised both hands. The quarrels which had come closest to him stopped in midair, the rest he allowed to rush past. Before he could pinpoint his unseen attackers, another volley rushed toward him seeming to come from every direction simultaneously. He jumped to his feet and held out his hands though the moisture in his eyes blurred his vision and the black smoke tickled his throat. He was relieved to see the bolts freeze in front of him again, before he felt a piercing pain in his right leg.

His leg buckled and he coughed again, desperately trying to blink the water from his eyes. He lifted his hands again as yet another barrage flew toward him. Time slowed down but the black smoke was filling his lungs and blurring his sight. The pain from his leg fogged his mind and he found he could only redirect the shafts rather than stop them. Then another piercing pain punctured his lower back and he collapsed.

He was coughing continuously now but his lungs would not clear and every cough aggravated his wounds and made his head foggier. He found himself staring up at the darkening sky through blurry eyes, palms pressed on the two areas radiating pain in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. Footsteps approached from several directions. Merlin’s eyes flashed and the nearest attackers were tossed backward, grunting when they hit the ground. Then a cloth was clamped across his nose. He tried not to breathe in but gasped when a hand pressed against the wound on his leg. The sky went completely black and all sounds faded.


	4. Truce

Merlin choked on the liquid that had been poured down his throat. The movement triggered a wave of agony from both his back and his leg which made him groan and nearly choke again. His eyes snapped open to see four faces above him, high above the black boots which surrounded him on three sides where he lay prostrate next to a deep hole.

He blinked several times. He had no idea how much time had passed, but the eyes which had been watering were now dry and scratchy. The floor beneath him was stone, not dirt. There was no moon, no stars, and the air was still and close and carried smells that recalled his recent stay in Camelot’s dungeon.

Two of the faces above him were wrapped in brown scarves like the foot soldiers which had passed him on the road. Another wore a tall, pointed silver helmet. One bald head was bare of any covering with a brown cape pinned to the stocky man’s shoulders.

The expression on the bald-headed man, though he was much shorter than his three companions, sent cold fear shivering up Merlin’s spine. It was a smile, but a cold, cruel smile that barely twisted the thin lips.

“You may have escaped justice in Camelot, boy,” the bald man sneered, “but Amata is not so lenient on evil sorcerers. You will wish we simply burned you.”

A black boot dug into the wound in Merlin’s back causing waves of pain that magnified when his body landed hard at the bottom of the pit. All sight, sound, and feeling ceased again.

~

Merlin thought he opened his eyes but the world remained dark. He wondered if he was blind or if this pit had been sealed off from any source of light. He lay on his back and agony throbbed below his left shoulder blade with lesser pain radiating from his right leg. The ground beneath him was rough and smelled of damp earth.

He coughed, then groaned at how the movement intensified the pain of his wounds as well as the new bruises from being thrown down this hole. Dizziness swept across his mind and he realized the potion they had dosed him with was probably meant to keep him too weak to use magic.

So this was how it ended – his life, his destiny – trapped in a dark cave where no one would find him or know what happened. Gaius and his mother would mourn when enough time passed that they began to worry, but no one else would truly miss him. A short, sharp laugh turned into another cough and then a groan at the fresh throbbing from his back and leg. He wondered which would kill him first, his wounds or thirst. If he was lucky he would simply fall unconscious and never wake up.

He closed his eyes but they snapped open when he heard his name. He held his breath, though he could see nothing. There was no movement, either in this hole or up above.

Then the sound came again, his name, but not in a voice he recognized. A croaking screech that did not even sound human. Already he was losing his grip on sanity.

When the cry came again, Merlin realized it was not a voice he was hearing with his ears, but rather with his mind. A mind blurred by the poison they had poured down his throat to keep him from regaining his senses and fighting back. An image flashed in his brain of another dark pit with a spear of light slanting down to illuminate white scales and an alien mouth opened in a screech.

Cold fury knifed through him when he recognized the little white dragon chained at the bottom of a pit, whimpering in terror. The Sarrum – he was not certain whether it was a name overheard in his stupor or gleaned from the dragon’s memory – how dare he imprison a creature barely more than a baby, a creature who had not yet learned hate but now understood terror. The leathery jaws opened in a whimpering croak, then the vision was cut off.

Dizziness swept over Merlin again and he closed his eyes against the spinning sensation of his dark, unseen prison. He needed to empty his stomach. He twisted his head to the side even though it made the darkness swirl and raised one hand until he could get a finger into his mouth. Retching wracked his body so that the pain made him pass out again.

When Merlin opened his eyes the next time his head was clearer but the agony from both wounds had increased. His fingers brushed the gravel under his back. It felt damp but not soaked with warm blood. As he tried to reach his leg to find out if it was bleeding, his hand brushed against the pouch tied to his waist. He had no idea what had become of his packs, but apparently his captors had not bothered to take away the pouch with nothing except dried plants. Among them would be herbs to ease his pain and ensure his wounds would not further weaken him while he attempted to find a way out of this place.

No further visions or mind-speak came to him, but he had no doubt the little dragon was nearby, trapped at the bottom of another of these cursed holes, chained and beaten. He intended to find Aithusa and free her. All Merlin had to do was get out of this hole, track Aithusa to her prison, and release her chains. Once they were both free, they would find their way up from whatever cave or castle housed these holes and call Kilgharrah for assistance. How exactly he would accomplish all that was unclear, but he would take it one step at a time.

First, ensure his injuries did not interfere too much with his escape. _Leoht_. Although not terribly bright, the ball of blue fire in his palm caused him to squint and turn away. His eyes were still dry but not as itchy. He blinked several times before he forced himself to look around. The walls of the hole were barely an arm span across, made of rocky earth and nearly vertical. Something with a dull shine like a metal grate sealed the top.

Merlin only lost consciousness once as he shifted enough to dig through his pack and field dress his wounds. The shaft which had pierced his back was gone, leaving a deep hole thinly covered by dried blood. Removing the bolt from his leg was what caused him to pass out, though he had dulled sensation with a dose of the right herbs. He wished there was water to wash his injuries and mix with the valerian, but he had to make do with damp earth from the pit wall to formulate a salve to seal the wound. He sat up carefully, then stood, putting all his weight on the injured leg as a test. It hurt, but he could use it.

Next, find a way out of the hole he was in. Merlin took a deep breath. His eyes flashed and the cover which had sealed the pit flew upward. It must have been metal because it made a loud clang when it landed on what was probably the stone floor of the dungeon. Merlin winced and hoped the Sarrum had no need of guards for his drugged and injured prisoners.

He held his breath for several heartbeats. When there was no indication of any alarm, he looked up toward the lip of the hole three arms’ lengths above his head. It was going to be a tough climb. He was almost glad Arthur had forced him to scale that tower in Hengist’s castle; that skill would be useful now. If only he could share this story with the king someday, joking with each other about how Merlin was grateful for having been dragged along on so many insane quests and forced to learn how to scale walls.

He flexed his hands several times, then grasped a large stone buried in the dirt wall of the pit as high above his head as he could reach. The stone did not move, even when he pulled, and he let it take his full weight while his uninjured left leg dug into the earth to push upward as he reached for another handhold. His right leg was not much help though at least it did not hinder him too terribly, but it took several minutes to climb high enough to grasp the top ledge and haul himself fully out of the hole.

He lay there for a few heartbeats, listening for guards. The glowing blue orb which was his only light in the room floated upward and grew larger to show what appeared to be a dungeon, though there were no cells in the large room. The floor had many more pits dug at intervals, a few sealed as Merlin’s had been but most left open. Unless there were more rooms like this one, Aithusa had to be in one of the sealed pits.

Limping only slightly, Merlin made his way to the nearest hole and looked down. There was a figure at the bottom but the smell told him this one was beyond rescue. There were at least twenty other covered holes in the room and, while there was no sign of any guard yet, hastening the search seemed like a good idea.

Merlin closed his eyes and called softly to Aithusa using the same words which summoned Kilgharrah. A croaking shriek came from one of the sealed holes by the far wall. The cry was weak but it was aloud, not in his mind this time. He limped to the pit and lifted the grate while he allowed the glowing blue orb to hover directly above the hole. Another screech came from below and a scaly white head on a long neck stretched upward.

“Aithusa?”

The head bobbed and light blue eyes blinked at him while leathery wings rippled as though trying to lift the little body. The dragon croaked and pulled against its bonds. Metal chains scraped against rock.

Beside the creature was a tangle of black hair with slender white arms encased in black lace chained above the head. The hands looked like a woman’s and the figure was wearing a dress, ripped and filthy but clearly black with long, lacy sleeves. Despite the suspicions Merlin had harboured, his breath stopped in his throat when a face lifted to the light, eyes shut against the brightness, and he saw Morgana.

A hunk of mouldy bread she had been gnawing fell from her slack jaw. She would not have been able to use her hands to eat what food they tossed down. Both she and the dragon appeared listless and the smell from the pit was nearly as intense as from the one that held a corpse. Morgana blinked several times but she seemed unable to focus and her head dropped again without speaking.

The sides of this pit were much steeper and the hole itself deeper than the one Merlin had climbed out of. He stared down despairingly, knowing even if he got down there to release Aithusa’s bonds it would be impossible for him to climb back out without aid. Aithusa was not much taller than a large dog and while he hoped she was well enough to fly, she would not be able to carry him.

Quickly, his eyes scanned the large room illuminated by the blue orb. Two coils of rope had been tossed near the far entry, the only doorway into the large chamber. Merlin stretched out his hand and one of the ropes slithered toward him across the floor while he looked around for a place to fasten one end.

He spied one of the grates covering a nearby hole. As long as he made certain the grate did not move, it would work as an anchor. Merlin confirmed no one was in the pit (the pile of rotting cloth down there did not bear thinking about) before he fused the grate to the rock around it and fastened the rope to the grate. He tugged once before he lowered himself over the edge of Aithusa’s prison, then moved quickly hand over hand until his foot touched the bottom, feeling for a place to stand between the dragon and the woman in the cramped hole.

Something moved under his foot and Aithusa hissed. Hastily he took his boot off the thin tail only to realize he was now standing on Morgana’s dress. She looked up again and her eyes widened in shock. Her mouth opened and she twisted, causing her chains to rattle above her head.

“Why? How?” The words were barely audible and ended in a dry cough.

Merlin turned to the dragon and stretched out a palm over her shackles. “ _Unspene þás mægþ_.”

He heard a sharp indrawn breath and lifted his eyes to see Morgana blinking at him. He ignored the voice of Gaius in his head admonishing him for using magic in front of Morgana. Since Arthur knew, it seemed pointless to keep the secret; besides, it would be much easier to defend against her if he could use his power openly. Not that she appeared to be much of a threat at the moment.

Aithusa croaked and his attention went back to the dragon who shifted, trying to shake out her wings in the cramped expanse of the hole. Before he could help, the dragon hopped onto his head, sharp claws dug into his scalp, then she leaped again and flapped her wings, making it up and out of the hole. She perched on the edge and croaked at him.

Merlin returned his gaze to Morgana, chained to the wall, face illuminated by the blue orb, still staring in shock. The last time he had seen her she was holding a sword to Gwen’s neck, about to run her through. In his haste to save Gwen he had aimed a blast of magic at Morgana more powerful than he had intended, especially in her wounded and magic-less state. He had feared that blast killed her, as he had nearly killed her more than once in defending against her previous attacks, but instead she was alive and imprisoned here.

He stared at her emaciated and pallid face, remembering her threats against Arthur and Gwen, the people in Camelot who had died in her attacks. But leaving her here, chained to a wall, her dress filthy with her own excrement, was wrong. Despite her crimes, which he knew better than anyone, he also knew the terror that had first driven her to turn her back on her own and she did not deserve to be left in this hole.

He hoped the rope could hold the weight of both of them because he was not certain Morgana had the strength to pull herself out. The skin of her hands was an unhealthy grey and her wrists were bruised with crusted blood beneath the shackles. Merlin held out a hand and repeated his spell.

When the bands released, Morgana’s arms dropped limply into her lap and pain twisted her face while a moan escaped her lips. As if the chains had been the only thing keeping her upright, she slumped to the side. He caught her, grunting at the dead weight. Unthinkingly, he had caught her with his right arm and the strain aggravated his wounded leg. For a moment, it took all his concentration to beat back the pain and support Morgana.

When he had caught his breath, he shifted her onto his left shoulder. Overhead, Aithusa croaked and ducked her head, sounding worried and fearful.

Merlin used the loose end of the rope to lash Morgana to him before he grasped the rope, took several deep breaths and then began to pull them both up. His left foot scrabbled for purchase on the steep sides of the pit to take some of the weight off his back and arms, but it was all he could do to put one hand above the over and pull them up bit by bit.

He could feel Morgana’s rib bones against his shoulder. Even as emaciated as she was, he had never been so glad for the hours polishing, scrubbing, and carrying that gave him the arm strength to haul her up. It was several minutes before he got near the edge where Aithusa waited, hopping from one foot to the other and croaking quietly in her agitation.

At length, both he and Morgana lay on the stone dungeon floor, him gasping for breath and feeling an ache in his arms that now rivaled the renewed pain from his leg and back. She continued to whimper as feeling returned to her arms and hands.

Aithusa’s snout nuzzled first one of them and then other, encouraging then to get up and run, but Merlin barely had strength to lift a hand to lay on her scaly nose in reassurance.

 _Quiet_ , he said in the mind-speak, relieved there was still no sound of anyone coming their way.

Morgana’s whimpers faded and she lifted her head. “Aithusa?”

The dragon switched her attention from the warlock to the witch, nuzzling her head against Morgana’s shoulder.

Merlin forced himself to move. He painfully got to his feet, then hesitated only briefly before he ignored Morgana’s icy glower to offer her a hand. “We should go.”

He froze at her malevolent glare.

She massaged one hand with the other before using her arms to push herself to her feet without aid, face scrunched in pain, a gasp escaping her clenched jaw. She sagged against the nearest wall, her legs unable to support her.

With a frown, he grabbed her hand to throw her arm across his shoulders and drag her along with him toward the chamber’s only exit.

“Leave me alone,” she growled.

“Okay.” He let go and she slumped to the hard floor in a heap to glare daggers at him.

Aithusa whined. The dragon nudged Morgana’s shoulder, then his hand.

“I tried.” He took one step away only to feel a hand clench at his trouser leg.

“No, help me.” Morgana’s eyes were squeezed shut and her jaw clenched tightly.

He hauled her up again to support her with his left arm and began moving cautiously toward the exit.

“No one comes down here except the Sarrum and his guard, Albin.”

Morgana’s voice was scratchy. He guessed that was more words than she had spoken since being imprisoned in the oubliette. It was also likely she had not had anything to drink in a long while, possibly days.

Outside the chamber, narrow stone steps led upward. There was a sharp bend two flights up but no branching corridors. Far above was a faint glimmer which flickered like torchlight. A torch probably meant guards, but there was no other way out. Gritting his teeth, Merlin started up the stairs with Morgana leaning on him but beginning to carry a bit of her own weight. Aithusa followed behind them.

He extinguished the glowing blue orb as they neared the top of the steps. A wavy triangle of light on the wall ahead indicated a torch burned around the next corner. There were sounds of conversation, restless bodies shifting where they sat or stood, and a scrape of metal against stone.

Aithusa flattened herself against the stone steps and folded in her wings.

Merlin eased his shoulder out from under Morgana, waiting to see that she could support herself with one hand braced against the wall before he peered around the corner.

Brightness caused him to squint, but he could see a long corridor lined with wooden doors. Halfway down were three soldiers, two seated and one standing, all wearing long scarves wrapped around their foreheads and necks. The two that had been sitting were intent on something on the floor between them, likely a game; the other’s gaze wandered along the hallway.

Merlin took a deep breath, then darted around the corner from the dark stairway into the lighted corridor. At his appearance, the guard who had been keeping a lookout shouted and raised the long spear he held. The two who had been intent on their game looked up and exclaimed before they scrambled for their own weapons. Merlin raised both hands and all three went flying before they slumped to the floor.

Another guard set foot in the corridor at the furthest end in time to see his fellows fall. He turned and darted out of sight, the sound of his shouts echoing back down the hall.

“We have to go!” Merlin darted down the corridor, dodging among the three limp forms on the floor, Morgana and Aithusa at his heels.

At the end of the hall where the other soldier had disappeared was another long corridor lined with doors to the left and more stairs to the right. Merlin took one step to the left only to hear sounds of several armed men moving hurriedly in his direction, so he grasped Morgana’s arm and spun her around before giving her a shove toward the steps.

Aithusa wove between their feet and darted up the stairs. Morgana followed the white dragon as quickly as she was able, though too slowly for Merlin’s comfort. He brought up the rear, glancing back worriedly to see soldiers gathering in the corridor below and behind.

On the next landing, hallways stretched away right and left but instead of being lined with doors, on one side was a row of windows with dim sunlight marking squares along the smooth stone walls opposite. Aithusa ignored the corridors and continued up the next flight of stairs. Morgana followed the dragon.

Before Merlin could decide which way to run, he heard an alarm bell and both ends of the corridor filled with soldiers. He sprinted up the stairs even though he knew they were now above ground level and if they climbed higher they were cutting off their best escape routes.

The stairway ended at a wide parapet looking out on an expanse of rocky ground stretching to the horizon from the castle grounds below. The ledge was attached to a stone fortress on a hill, the only rise of ground in sight; and overlooked a steep drop dotted with thorny brush.

The white dragon shrieked and spread her wings, leaping into the overcast sky.

“Aithusa!”

Morgana’s cry went unnoticed as the dragon flew nearly straight up, quickly disappearing into the low clouds.

Merlin felt only relief as the little creature stretched her wings for the first time in what had probably been months. She was free.

Then something whirred past his cheek and scraped against the wall behind him and he saw a soldier with a crossbow leaning out of a window above. With a wave of Merlin’s hand, the bow sailed out of the soldier’s hands and tumbled down the thorny slope below them. The bolt froze, then spun in midair and buried itself in the soldier’s throat. Immediately another armed soldier took his place.

A glance around showed that all the windows facing the same direction as the parapet were now occupied by armed men, crossbows pointed at the spot where Merlin stood.

Morgana had run to the edge of the low stone wall which lined the parapet, staring upward to where Aithusa had disappeared from sight. The witch was in plain view of the archers.

Merlin grabbed her and shoved her back toward the stairway in the castle at the same time as a volley of bolts clattered all around them. She ducked into the doorway and he instinctively covered his head with his arms as he dropped to the cold stone, shrinking against the low wall and gasping for breath. It was poor cover and Merlin expected the next barrage to hit him at least once but it never came.

He heard a cold chuckle. Hesitantly, he lowered his arms and looked toward the doorway between the stairway and the parapet. The bald man with the brown cape, the Sarrum, grimaced at him with pleased satisfaction.

Morgana was in the grasp of a big man, as muscular as Percival and nearly as tall. His bare arms were decorated with leather vambraces to protect his forearms, one of which was wrapped around Morgana’s neck while he held a short sword pressed against her chest.

Her eyes were fixed on the Sarrum and brimming with both hatred and terror. In their many confrontations Merlin had not seen that much rage or that much fear in her face before.

The Sarrum glanced at the sky. “I take it the creature has escaped? No matter. It will return for Morgana and then it will pay the price. And you, my lady,” he sneered, “do not think to use your powers on me or that creature will suffer more than you have seen even yet.”

Morgana’s face paled and she went motionless in the grip of her captor.

The sneer became contemplative as the Sarrum fixed his gaze on Merlin. “Perhaps your weakness is also that cursed monster. Do you want to ask what will happen to that creature when it comes back?”

The fear Aithusa had displayed and the horror on Morgana’s face were enough to tell Merlin that what the Sarrum had in mind for the tiny dragon was gruesome. “You will not harm her.”

Sarrum blinked at Merlin’s icy tone before his sneer came back. His bald head swiveled on the thick neck to look between Morgana and Merlin. “Perhaps you have other weaknesses? I could show you how unpleasantly your fellow sorceress can die.”

Merlin’s insides froze even as his heart sped up. Morgana was his enemy, the enemy of Arthur and Camelot, but he refused to watch her die slowly and painfully in front of him.

Her gaze flicked fearfully in his direction before returning to the Sarrum. Did she believe he would stand aside and let them torture her to death? Apparently she would do nothing to free herself as long as Aithusa was in danger from the Sarrum’s threat.

Merlin hoped the little dragon did not come back as the Sarrum expected, or, if she did, hopefully Kilgharrah was with her. That would give the cruel warlord an unpleasant surprise. If Merlin dared he would call the Great Dragon now and let him take revenge for the way Aithusa had been imprisoned and tortured.

Merlin’s gaze took in the archers in every window he could see above and below him, crossbows trained on both him and Morgana, and the large soldier with a blade that would pierce Morgana’s chest before Merlin could blink. Was it true that no mortal blade could kill her or was that merely a tale? Could he be certain that the Sarrum’s guard carried an ordinary blade? The fact that they had held Morgana and a dragon prisoner for some months as well as having successfully captured him said that the Amatan warriors knew how to hunt sorcerers. It would be a mistake to underestimate them.

His hesitation must have pleased the Sarrum because another dry chuckle issued from bald tyrant. Apparently the Sarrum was aware he held the upper hand. With a slight smile he turned to give orders to Albin when a sound of rushing wind within the clouds above them grew louder.

The little white dragon dropped into sight above them. Merlin’s heart sank at the danger she was in. The Sarrum smiled in triumph before a dark shape with a wingspan the width of the castle courtyard followed the smaller dragon.

The windstorm kicked up by Kilgharrah’s descent twisted Merlin’s hair into his eyes, but he saw Albin’s blade begin to sink into Morgana’s chest. Without thought, Merlin’s eyes flashed and the blade reversed its direction to go spinning away over the low parapet. The big man blinked in surprise before Merlin’s eyes flashed again and Albin found himself picked up off his feet and hurled against the stone wall.

Morgana sank to the floor at the same time as Kilgharrah opened his mouth, yellow eyes fixed on the door through which the Sarrum had disappeared. Merlin leapt to Morgana’s side and held up one hand. Dragonfire aimed at the castle engulfed Merlin and Morgana but did not touch them, though Merlin could feel the heat through his invisible shield. The stone beneath them cracked. The walls and floor around them blackened except for a circle under their feet.

The Great Dragon turned in the sky and circled back to send a blast of fire along every window of the stone fortress. Merlin saw a few of the Sarrum’s soldiers return fire but their bolts merely glanced off the dragon’s scales. As Kilgharrah passed, his tail slammed into the wall and Merlin ducked as a hail of stones clattered down around him, bouncing off his shield. Then the Great Dragon had passed them by again.

Merlin dropped his shield and stared down at Morgana. The front of her bodice was bloodstained but the wound Albin had given her was not deep.

She pushed him aside and staggered into the stairwell behind them, stepping over Albin’s burned corpse. Her hand shot out and her fist clenched.

The archers in the windows were focused on the large dragon. Merlin ignored them to follow Morgana. By the time he reached her side, he saw the Sarrum at the bottom of the stair, his face turning blue while his hands clawed at his own throat. Several of his soldiers rushed to surround him, their gaze traveling up to the witch at the top of the stairs. Two of his men raised crossbows.

“Morgana,” Merlin said.

She ignored him, her hand still outstretched and clenched tightly as if it was wrapped around the Sarrum’s thick neck.

Merlin’s eyes flashed and the weapons flew from the soldiers’ grasp. Three others charged up the staircase, swords drawn. He raised his hands and they were thrown backward into the group assembling around the Sarrum who had dropped to his knees, his face now darkening to purple.

The bald head stared up at Morgana with hatred. The man’s mouth opened but he could make no sound. Then he collapsed, eyes open and staring without blinking. Morgana smiled.

Merlin grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the stairway, back onto the parapet out of sight of the Sarrum’s soldiers. “We have to go.”

“‘We’?” Her eyes fixed on him as if she had just noticed that he was there.

Aithusa gave a loud shriek and landed on the cracked and blackened stone beside them. Immediately, Morgana’s gaze fixed on the creature and she took an unsteady step in the direction of the white dragon.

Kilgharrah hovered at the edge of the parapet, above the steep drop down the thorny hillside. “It is time to leave here,” the alien voice rumbled. “Come, young warlock. I will take you and the little one can follow as she will.”

“What of Morgana?”

“The witch might be lucky enough to evade the soldiers and escape this place now that Aithusa is safe.”

“We will not leave her here.”

“I can take care of myself.” Morgana’s hand shot up and Merlin barely had time to block her attack.

Kilgharrah’s deep laugh rumbled before Morgana’s eyes flashed and a discarded sword hurled itself at the dragon. It bounced harmlessly off the glittering scales.

Aithusa whimpered.

 “Enough, Morgana,” Merlin said. “ _Swefe nu_.”

Morgana’s body went stiff before she collapsed to the stone. Aithusa edged closer to her crumpled form and laid her snout on Morgana’s shoulder.

Merlin grasped one limp hand and lifted the black-clad priestess onto his shoulders, then turned to Kilgharrah.

“No,” the Great Dragon said.

Merlin refused to put Morgana down. Aithusa let out a croak and stood on her hind legs, wings spread, blue eyes fixed on the larger dragon’s yellow ones.

Kilgharrah snorted a stream of smoke from his nostrils before he moved close enough for Merlin to climb onto his back carrying Morgana.

~

Kilgharrah landed in an open stretch of flat, rocky ground which sloped down to a clump of trees and brush lining a stream.

Merlin clambered off the dragon’s back carrying a barely-stirring Morgana. “Thank you, old friend.”

The huge head nodded in response.

The white dragon landed at their feet and chirped.

“Thank you, too, Aithusa.” If the white dragon had not brought Kilgharrah, he and Morgana could be dead or, worse, back in the Sarrum’s custody.

Merlin laid the witch on the ground, his nose wrinkling anew at the stench of her clothing. Aithusa curled up beside her with her scaly snout resting on Morgana’s chest.

“Are we still in Amata?” Merlin asked.

“No, we are in Mercia near the border with Camelot,” the Great Dragon replied

Merlin sank to the ground. His leg was throbbing and the gouge on his lower back ached. He reached back and felt dried blood around the hole in his tunic. The stream would serve to wash his wounds before he dressed them properly and bandaged his leg using strips from his neckerchief. Then he could ensure Morgana had no injuries other than the knife cut he needed to tend. If she allowed him to treat her.

He frowned down at her limp form. Her hair was even more knotted and dirty and her face was an unhealthy grey. Aithusa’s breath stirred the tangled dark hair and her lashes fluttered but did not open.

Merlin had examined the knife wound during their flight; it should be cleaned but it was not deep enough to be a concern. Dehydration was more serious, and it was possible she had suffered other injuries during her captivity, wounds not yet evident to him.

The damage to her mind, however, was the most worrisome. The body could be healed but, if she had been kept in that dark pit like an animal for weeks, there was no way to anticipate what the effects might be. Her actions of the past few years bordered on madness, if she had been pushed past the edge of sanity there was no telling what she might do.

“How did the Sarrum capture them?” Merlin asked aloud, although whether Kilgharrah had an answer he did not know. “How did Aithusa even meet her?”

“The little one healed her after you drove her out of Camelot.”

Merlin looked up at the dragon in shock. “What? Why?”

“Can’t you guess?” Kilgharrah snorted again.

“No.” Merlin watched the dragon, puzzled, wondering if he would get an answer or a cryptic riddle.

“The little one found Morgana in the woods outside of the city, injured from a stab wound in her side, without magic, and weak from a magical assault.”

Merlin swallowed a flutter of guilt.

“You were right to do it. But Aithusa healed her and in gratitude the witch followed the little dragon.”

“Why would Aithusa heal Morgana?”

“Because you hatched the little dragon.”

Merlin bit back an impatient groan. Cryptic riddle it was. “What does that mean?”

“Aithusa is bonded to your will. Her actions until she grows older will mimic what you would do in the same situation.”

“No, I …” Merlin frowned. “I’m the one who defeated Morgana. I wouldn’t have healed her.”

Morgana stirred. The pallor of her skin was more visible in the daylight than it had been in the dungeon. Now their escape was behind them, fatigue, dizziness, and confusion due to her dehydration were the dangers.

He should get her to the stream. He needed water himself. Those concerns were more important than attempting to puzzle out whatever the Great Dragon was hinting at.

Merlin carefully regarded Aithusa. Her scales seemed duller than he thought they should, but otherwise she showed no outward sign of the ill effects of her captivity. He turned to Kilgharrah.

“Is Aithusa all right? Is there anything she needs?”

“I believe she will be fine, young warlock.”

The white dragon chirped in agreement and nudged Morgana as the witch sat up and looked around blearily. Her brows drew together the moment her eyes landed on Merlin.

He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

“There’s a stream a few steps away,” he said. “I can help you get there. You must be thirsty.” They would have to use their hands to drink from the stream because his waterskins were lost along with the packs he had carried before his capture.

Her mouth twisted. “You think I would accept water from you?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s a flowing stream, Morgana. It’s not poisoned.”

“Why would I trust you not to drown me?”

“If I wanted you dead I’ve had plenty of opportunities today to let you die.”

“Don’t think I’m fooled into believing you won’t take the next opportunity.”

“If either of us should be worried, I’m the one taking the biggest chance. You’ve been trying to kill me for years!”

Their voices had grown steadily louder. Aithusa whined and looked from one to the other. They both stopped shouting to stare at the little dragon who raised herself on her hind legs and flapped her wings.

Clenching his jaw, Merlin stepped closer to Morgana and offered a hand which she ignored.

“I have no intention of accepting any further help from you.”

Her hand came up as though she was about to cast a spell. He flinched and readied a defense but Morgana wavered, closed her eyes, and put both hands to her head.

Ignoring her protests, he grabbed one arm and hoisted her up, dragging her in the direction of the stream. Behind him, he heard Kilgharrah give a snort before the windstorm kicked up by his lift-off made Merlin cough and blink dirt out of his eyes.

Merlin wondered if he would have to warn Morgana not to drink too much too quickly when they reached the stream and sank down at the edge of the clear, slow-moving water. She shook off his hold and used her cupped hands to take a few sips of water from the stream and splash water on her face. When he was certain she was not about to collapse or over-indulge, he quenched his own thirst while still keeping an eye on the witch.

She sat at the stream’s edge, half in the water and half on the rocky shore, her head bent and her arms trailing limply in the water. Strands of hair stuck to her cheeks and forehead but the rest was a snarled mess coated with dirt.

He wondered that she was not frozen from being wet in the cold air. They had no blankets and no cloaks, but he could make a fire.

Aithusa remained beside Morgana. The little dragon made no effort to drink herself and Merlin wondered if dragons needed water the way humans and animals did. As far as he could remember, there had been no sign of an underground stream in the cave which had imprisoned Kilgharrah. Perhaps a creature of fire had no use for water.

Morgana struck the moment he turned to find firewood. When he felt the force of the blast lift him off his feet, he wondered why he had been foolish enough to turn his back on her. His forehead glanced off the rough bark of a tree trunk and he twisted as he fell to the ground so that he was looking up at her as she neared. The wound on his back protested but his good leg had taken the brunt of the fall.

He saw a blurry white shape move between them and heard a croaking shriek. The little dragon gave a chirrup and planted herself firmly between Merlin and Morgana.

Merlin jumped to his feet and Morgana’s furious gaze fixed on him. Her hand reached out and clenched the air as though she was strangling him but he waved aside the spell with a flick of his palm. Her eyes narrowed further and she snapped out another spell but it glanced off the invisible shield he now held in place. She tried again, her enchantments increasing in force and complexity as she attempted to overpower his guard, her anger growing at each failed attempt.

He stood his ground, repelling every attack but making no effort to strike back, which increased her fury even more.

Her forehead glistened with perspiration and her outstretched arm had begun to tremble when she abruptly raised both hands palm out and shouted, “ _Forbaerne! Ácwele!_ ”

The ball of fire that raced toward him was as powerful as the bolt Nimueh had hurled long ago. Merlin reached out, caught it, and tossed it aside where it blinked out on the rocky shore with barely a twist of smoke.

“How long?” Morgana demanded. “How long have you known how to use magic?”

When he made no answer, she took a step closer to him.

“Did you have magic when you faced me in that crypt and told me you _understood_ what it was like to be an outsider, to be ashamed of how you were born, to have to hide?” Her jaw was clenched so tightly the words ground out between her teeth.

He gave a quick nod and she took another step closer.

“When I sat in Uther’s court, at his table, knowing if he were to discover who I really am he would have me killed, did you have magic then?”

Guilt squeezed his throat closed but he nodded once more and again she took a step closer.

“When I told you my deepest fear – that it was my magic that caused the candle to flare up, when I begged you to admit to me that what I felt was real, did you stand there knowing what it was like to discover magic inside yourself and say _nothing_?”

He forced the word out past the knot of regret in his throat. “Yes.”

“You knew! You knew what I was going through and you left me to face it alone.”

The sentenced ended on a shriek that caused the air to whip around them with the force of a gale. Twigs and leaves spun up around them, tree branches bent and twisted in the wind, and Morgana’s tangled hair was wrapped around her face as she took the last step toward him and pounded on his chest with both her fists, screaming incoherently.

Merlin grabbed her wrists to keep her from hitting him but did nothing to halt the tempest raging around them or stop her screams. She struggled to free her arms but there was little strength left in her and finally she collapsed against him, head on his shoulder, and the gale faded. Slowly the dirt that had been whipped up around them settled back to the ground. He blinked and spit out bits of dried leaves and dirt.

Aithusa was crouched with one wing curled protectively around herself, peering at them.

Morgana lifted her head to stare at Merlin, her eyes red-rimmed though no tears had fallen. “Why?”

“I didn’t trust you.” He braced for another blast.

“I trusted you. Why didn’t you trust me?” she asked quietly.

“How could I trust someone who had already participated in one assassination attempt against the king? Who willingly allied with Alvarr, then with Morgause, against Camelot never asking who would get hurt in their attacks?”

“Did you ever consider that if you had trusted me enough to be honest with me I would not have made those choices?”

Her quiet tone and steady gaze cut deeper than her shouting and aggression.

“Yes.”

“Damn you.”

“Morgana, I –”

The force that lifted him off his feet and threw him several paces felt much like the uncontrolled burst of fury that had once tossed him across her chambers, though not nearly as powerful as the magic she had used against him in recent years.

This time he reciprocated, throwing her backward with a flash of his eyes. He got to his feet with barely a wince and moved to stand over her where she had fallen.

The breath was knocked out of her and she groaned in pain, her eyes squeezed shut. Slowly she opened them to find him standing over her. Though it seemed she had barely strength to lift her head he saw the flash of her eyes and lifted a palm to halt the stone she had hurled at him. It dropped to the soft earth with a muffled thud.

A sardonic grin twisted his lips. “Haven’t we done this already?”

Her brows knotted as she stared up at him.

He tipped his head to the side. “I should warn you that this time you don’t have the advantage of being half my age.” Being eighty had seriously handicapped his ability to recover from her assaults outside that hovel in the Valley of the Fallen Kings.

He watched the emotions on her face: puzzlement, realization, alarm, terror.

“Emrys.” She spoke so faintly he barely heard her. He could see her eyes grow wide and fearful before she lifted an arm to shield herself and flinched away to huddle shivering on the ground.

Aithusa croaked and moved beside her, lifting onto her hind legs and spreading her wings to scold him.

His hand raked through his hair and then dropped to his side.

When he made no further move, Morgana slowly lowered her arm, looking up at him from her prone position. “Why don’t you kill me and get it over with?” Her pallid skin had lost its last bit of colour and the smudges beneath her eyes had darkened to deep bruises. “Why didn’t you leave me in that hole?”

“I wish I knew.”

“What makes you think I even want to live?” If she had shouted he would have believed it was her madness speaking, that her captivity had aggravated that spark of insanity, but her voice was calm and her eyes were cold. “I sacrificed my friends, my family, my home, my wealth, my position, everything for my sister and then I sacrificed her. There is no one anywhere in this world to care if I die.”

Her eyes were a dark pit of hopeless emptiness that extended to her soul. Merlin struggled to find words that might reach whatever was left of her buried under that bitterness. “What about Aithusa?”

On cue, the little dragon dropped back to all fours and curled protectively around Morgana.

Her hand stroked the white scales and her eyes misted.

Merlin turned his back and went to gather up firewood.

By the time he returned, Morgana was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chin and her arms wrapped around, shivering slightly, Aithusa pressed against her hip. The little dragon raised her head to watch him as he dumped the armful of dry branches and lit them with a glance.

Morgana spoke without raising her eyes. “Can I rest assured you do not intend to kill me tonight?”

“I promise not to kill you as long as you don’t try to kill me.”

Her nod was barely discernable. Morgana inched closer to the flames. Aithusa lowered her head again.

Leaving them there, Merlin gathered plenty of fallen deadwood in the trees lining the stream before he turned his attention to finding food. He recognized several of the bushes along the stream as ones which must have been full of berries only a month earlier, but it was too late in the year to get anything from them now. Only a few tiny, shriveled orbs too dark to determine their previous colour remained on the branches.

At least the stream had signs of life. A bit of magic helped turn a long branch into a stick pointy enough to spear fish. He was glad when his efforts standing on a rock in the middle of the stream yielded two fish large enough to feed both him and Morgana.

The dragon showed no interest in fish, nor in finding her own food. She insinuated herself between her two companions, seemingly content for Morgana to rest one hand on the smooth scales of her head. Merlin reached out occasionally to touch her neck and each time she lifted her head slightly and gave a satisfied chirp.

Morgana gave him a suspicious look when he handed food to her, but she quickly ate it all, finishing her portion before he was half done. He gave her some of his share and this time she took it without hesitation.

By the time their meal was done, shadows from the trees lining the bank beside them stretched across the stream and as the sun lowered the cold increased. His eyes flashed and the fire flamed higher.

Morgana’s head snapped up and she glared at him. It was the first time she had looked directly at him since their argument earlier.

She looked down at the dragon and then back at him. “How did you hatch Aithusa? Why did that dragon help us? Who are you really?”

She must have been conscious during his conversation with Kilgharrah. For a long time he had carefully concealed this information from her: that he had magic, that he was Emrys, that he was a dragonlord. Gaius’s voice echoed in his head, “ _She must never know who you really are_.” But keeping secrets was pointless now.

He raised a hand to massage the back of his neck and stared into the fire. “Kilgharrah – the Great Dragon – is my friend and my kin. We thought he was the last of his kind, then I learned the Tomb of Ashkanar contained a dragon’s egg and the key to the Tomb had been located. I rescued the egg and used my power as a dragonlord to name Aithusa and call her from the egg.” He risked a look up at Morgana who was staring at him open-mouthed.

“You named her? That’s why she is bonded to you?”

“Yes.” His gaze fell on the creature beside Morgana, white scales glowing faintly as they reflected the flames. “It was amazing to see. The egg radiated magic; it was a soft blue that shifted like clouds in a summer sky, about two handspans tall, and holding it felt like … like handling magic. I could sense what was inside, asleep and waiting. I reached out and touched that sleeping consciousness and it was like looking into the light of the sun, so without knowing what it meant I named her Aithusa. Then the egg cracked and this tiny snout poked out.” He smiled at the dragon that had already grown from the size of a bird to a large dog. “She stood right up on her hind legs and spread her tiny wings, this little creature of magic, and it was so incredible.” His eyes moistened at the memory and embarrassedly he ducked his head, but when he looked at Morgana he saw the same expression of wonder that was probably on his face.

Then her brow wrinkled. “Arthur would never condone bringing a dragon into the world.”

“Yes, well.” Merlin cleared his throat. “Arthur was under the impression the egg was destroyed when the tower collapsed.”

“Ah. And the Great Dragon? Wasn’t Arthur supposed to have killed it?”

“Yes.”

“You lied to him.”

A twinge of guilt twisted his gut. “Yes.”

His face grew warm under her scrutiny.

“Where is Arthur?”

“Back in Camelot, I would think.” His shoulders hunched.

“But you weren’t captured in Camelot.”

“No. I was in Amata.”

“Why?”

“I was following Aithusa. I wanted to make sure she was safe and well.”

Her eyes narrowed as her head tipped to the side, studying him carefully. “You left Arthur and Camelot to follow a dragon this far north?”

His gaze dropped to his hands, twisting a corner of his tunic. “No. I was already nearly to the border when I began following your trail.” His voice sounded hoarse.

She cocked an ear toward him. “Why so far from home?”

“Does it matter?”

The forest around them had darkened to nearly black now that the sun had disappeared, and he shivered. The fire warmed his face but his back was cold even beneath his tunic and jacket. Morgana wore only her black dress, ripped and stained, steam rising from the damp hem. She hugged herself, hands rubbing her arms trying to create warmth.

A release of the tension of the last two days as well as fatigue from their struggle to escape swamped him. He guessed that she was at least as drained as he was after their battles and her long ordeal as the Sarrum’s captive.

His right leg had begun to ache again and his back throbbed. “We should rest.”

She gave him a quick, wary look, before she allowed herself to slump to the cold ground beside the fire. Aithusa coiled herself up beside Morgana with her head underneath one wing.

Merlin built up the fire before pulling his jacket tighter and lying down. He shifted to ease the pressure against the wound in his back, intending to sleep deeply now they were relatively safe, fed, and watered. He caught Morgana’s eyes on him from across the flames as he wriggled around. Hopefully she intended to honour their agreement to make no further attempts on his life, at least for the night, because he was tired. Exhausted, actually. Nothing, not even the presence of his mortal enemy two arms’ lengths away, was going to disturb his rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos, I do appreciate them!  
> And thanks to wryter501 and AJsRandom for beta input.


	5. A New Path

When Merlin’s eyes opened, his back was freezing cold, his hip was bruised from a stone that poked out of the ground where he had rolled onto his side, and there was a cramp in his neck. He was in darkness except for a rounded strip of moon that hung above the dark outline of treetops. The only sounds of movement were the running water of the stream and a log collapsing into the embers of the fire. Then the scream came again.

Morgana sat bolt upright, her gaze darting around wildly before fixing on the embers. She shrank away in confusion, arms spread wide and hands groping the air. She gave another scream followed by a whimper.

“ _Leoht_.” A ball of swirling white and blue coalesced over his palm as Merlin scrambled to Morgana’s side.

The light illuminated the ground, the stream, and the trees that lined the bank.

He put one hand on her shoulder which was ice-cold under the ripped black lace. “You’re not in the pit. You’re safe.”

Her breathing remained rapid but her hands stopped waving around. “Aithusa?”

Her voice was hoarse and he wondered how long she had screamed before he woke.

The white dragon croaked in response from where she lay beside Morgana.

Morgana touched the luminescent scales and calmed further. “Sarrum?”

“He’s dead. You killed him.”

She shivered.

He rubbed her arm and her eyes fixed on him as if only just comprehending his presence. Immediately, he ceased rubbing.

Merlin located the piece of bark they had used as a cup during their meal earlier. He got up and fed the fire before he fetched her a drink of water. He refused to flinch at the long, hard look she gave him before she accepted the drink.

By the time she had taken several sips of water she stopped shivering. Merlin shifted, preparing to go back to his spot at the far side of the fire, when she dropped the cup and grabbed the hem of his brown jacket. He started in surprise.

Morgana kept one hand on Aithusa’s head and one hand grasped his jacket. Raw, red skin was visible on her forearm in place of the silver bracelet she had worn so long. She did not ask him to stay close but her expression was pleading and she refused to release his coat. He settled into a more comfortable sitting position without pulling his jacket from her grip.

They sat in silence while her rapid breathing slowed to normal and her tense posture relaxed. He was about to suggest they go back to sleep when she spoke.

“Arthur would never send you to Amata. He doesn’t know you’re here.” She looked up at him. “You would never leave his side willingly, so that means you had to flee.”

Merlin let out a breath and briefly closed his eyes. “Arthur found out about me and I was banished from Camelot. That’s why I was nearly to the border when I got word of Aithusa.”

She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. “What did you think was going to happen when he discovered the truth? He’s made it perfectly clear how he feels about magic and sorcerers.”

“I thought … I hoped …”

“You thought what? That a few years of friendship were going to overcome a lifetime of Uther’s indoctrination?” She snorted. “Arthur is just like his father.”

“No. He isn’t.” Merlin’s jaw clenched. “He isn’t like Uther, he never was.”

“He’s never questioned his father’s attitude to magic.”

“Yes, he has.” Merlin let his anger loose. “But you and your sister convinced him all those who practice magic are evil and dangerous.”

“How dare you blame –”

“You killed Uther.” Merlin’s voice had risen. “Arthur promised things would be different when he was king, that people like me – like you – could live in peace, that those who practice magic would be accepted rather than hunted. Then you used magic to kill his father.” Merlin felt again the crushing defeat of allowing his hopes to rise so high only to be quashed lower than ever before.

“You think Arthur would have kept that promise? You actually believe things would have been different?”

“Yes, I do. Despite everything you’ve done, despite his belief that magic is evil, Arthur made a truce with the Druids. They are no longer persecuted within Camelot.”

“Can they practice magic?”

Merlin hesitated briefly. “No. But they are not to be hunted or shunned.”

“What if they are?”

Merlin was momentarily nonplussed. “What do you mean?”

“If someone harmed a Druid or claimed they were practising magic and drove them away, would there be any repercussion?”

“Well …”

“So they are tolerated, but not offered protection or allowed to practice the Old Religion.”

He tried to think of a time when a Druid person or camp had been defended by the knights. There was none.

“Your presence was not even tolerated.”

Merlin flinched as her words cut at his heart.

“You were banished as soon as Arthur found out who you really were.”

“If it had been Uther, I would have been immediately executed.”

Her mouth twisted. “Yes, banishment is so much better.”

“In his heart, Arthur is a good man.”

“That’s not enough.”

Merlin’s mouth opened but no words came.

Morgana clutched his jacket more tightly, holding his gaze. “We do not have freedom if we are still forbidden to use magic, if we are forced to live in the shadows or flee.”

“It won’t always be like this.” To his own ears, his words rang hollow.

A bark of laughter escaped her. “What makes you think that? I fought to take the throne and free our people, you fought to stop me, to defend your precious Arthur, and yet here we both sit, banished from Camelot, shunned for the magic we share.”

Merlin looked down at his hands as they twisted the hem of his tunic. Kilgharrah had said Arthur was destined to unite the kingdom of Albion, but what of that destiny now? Arthur was king, magic was still outlawed, and now Merlin was an exile. If only he had told Arthur the truth sooner, maybe it would be different. Or maybe not.

“We should get some rest,” he said.

There was a flash of fear in Morgana’s eyes, but she nodded. She curled up on her side beside the dragon, hand still fisted in his jacket. After a moment, he stretched out on the other side of the dragon and tried to get back to sleep.

~

Merlin huddled closer to the warmth beside his chest, aware his back was cold, when a sharp claw poked his rib. His eyes opened wide to find a white, scaly, surprisingly warm body next to him, its hide smooth unless he rubbed it the wrong way. He had one arm flung across the creature and his fingertips brushed against lace. It was Morgana’s sleeve, her arm wrapped around the dragon’s neck with her hand still clenched on a corner of his jacket. The abrasions on her wrist beneath the black lace of her sleeve were more visible in daylight.

Aithusa’s tail was tucked around her body with her wings folded neatly at her sides. She seemed to have suffered fewer ill effects than Morgana from their weeks of imprisonment, though what would have happened in time was a frightening thought: a growing dragon needed space.

Both Morgana and the dragon appeared to be asleep, their breathing slow and even, although Morgana twitched and moaned every so often.

Merlin reached down to touch Morgana’s hand; it was cold. He gently tugged on his jacket but she only clenched tighter. With as little noise as possible he twisted out of the coat, laid it over her, and sat up, briskly rubbing his arms.

The sun was high in the east but the air was not much warmer than it had been last night. He tossed the last of the wood he had gathered the previous day onto the fire and encouraged it to light with a flash of his eyes. Then he untied the blue cloth wrapping his leg, made sure the wound was healing, and retied the bandage. His back was sore but not as painful as the night before.

They needed more food today. At least water and firewood were plentiful, although they would have no way to carry water with them when they left. Which would be unwise before Morgana regained her strength. Of course, Morgana regaining her strength meant she could more easily attack him. He might be wiser to leave her here and go now. Where, he did not know. Merlin rubbed his temples, then pushed aside any thought of his future plans to attend to breakfast.

He caught three fish before he heard a croaking shriek and looked over to see the white dragon stretching her wings. Morgana sat beside her and gazed around blearily, his jacket slung across her shoulders. When Aithusa leapt for the sky, Morgana reached out as though to pull the dragon back before her hand dropped to her side and she drew her knees up to her chest.

From where he stood in the stream, Merlin could see Aithusa floating above the open ground they had landed on the day before. Then she dived suddenly. At least he did not have to worry about providing food for her.

He wrapped the fish he had caught in the greenest leaves he could find, added the mushrooms he had picked, and used a few herbs from his pouch for flavour before setting the package at the edge of the fire. Morgana regarded him warily, making no effort to help with the fire or the cooking.

“Good morning,” he said. “You should probably drink more water once you’re warmed up. By then breakfast will be cooked.”

She stared at him silently for a long moment before she responded. “Thank you, _Emrys_.”

He winced at the sarcastic bite but chose not to respond in kind. Eventually she got up, dropped his jacket to the ground, and strode towards the stream. He retrieved the jacket, grateful for the warmth it contained.

He busied himself with sorting through what was left in his pouch, deliberately keeping his back to Morgana as if he was unconcerned with anything she might do. She returned and crouched close to the fire to hold out her wet hands. The hair around her face was damp, too, though the rest remained a dirty, tangled mess.

“Why are you afraid of Emrys?” he asked.

Her head jerked up. “I fear no one.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Was it the Cailleach?”

“How … never mind.” A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Did you see her, too? What did she say to you?”

He shrugged. “Just my name. Emrys, that is. Is she the one who predicted your doom?”

Morgana’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about that?”

“Only the little Alator told me.”

“Alator …” Her voice trailed away as she eyed him. “He betrayed me.” Her hand clamped around her bare forearm.

“He chose not to follow the path you were following, the path Morgause set for you.”

“My sister showed me the way to truly free our people. She wanted to help them. She helped me and she loved me.”

“She never helped anyone. She used you.”

Hatred brimmed in Morgana’s green eyes. “She was the only one who cared for me and you killed her.”

He refused to feel guilty about that; Morgause had been about to attack Gaius and was holding the entire kingdom hostage to an immortal army of mercenaries. “She cared about how you could help her take control of the kingdom.”

“She gave up the kingdom once to save me.”

“Did she?”

Morgana’s brows drew together and her lips compressed.

“The sleeping spell was broken, Uther and Arthur were both alive, and all of Camelot was about to begin fighting back. The Knights of Medhir were powerful and would have wreaked enormous havoc as long as they were active, but Morgause had already lost her bid to seize power. She only saved you because she could make further use of your willingness to do whatever she asked.”

“She saved me because she loved me, saved me from your poison.” Morgana spit the words as if they tasted vile.

“She could only save you because I gave her the name of the poison,” he said quietly. He used a stick to move the wrapped bundle of fish around on the coals. “If Morgause was so concerned about you, why did it take her so long to make contact with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“She made no effort to see you or speak to you until after you showed signs of having magic, signs of being useful to her. Even then she tried to manipulate Arthur first because he would have been even more useful had she bent him to her will.”

Morgana lifted her chin. “Uther prevented her from contacting me sooner.”

“He couldn’t have stopped her had she chosen to meet you.”

Morgana’s mouth opened and closed, her chest heaving, but she made no response.

“She was wrong about Arthur being like his father,” Merlin said.

“You can say that now?”

This time it was Merlin who had no answer. He went back to tending the fish. Morgana sat in stony silence, staring into the distance where Aithusa was stretching her wings. The little dragon executed a series of dips and dives, sunlight glinting from her luminous white scales.

They ate their meal in silence, though Merlin found Morgana’s eyes on him several times when she was not gazing anxiously at the sky.

When Aithusa returned, the dragon took up a position between them, tail wrapped around her body and wings tucked in, snout sunk tiredly on her front legs.

Morgana’s hand idly stroked the scaly head. “What did you mean when you said I had an advantage because you were twice my age?”

It was not one of the many questions Merlin had expected her to ask. “Being tossed through the air and landing on rough ground is a lot harder on eighty-year-old bones.” His hip ached with the memory.

She frowned. “But an aging spell is only an illusion; it fools the eye but not a mirror. The body itself does not truly age.”

It was Merlin’s turn to frown. He definitely felt old when he used that spell: his back and joints ached, his steps were slow, it was difficult to climb on a horse, he wheezed. “No, I was definitely eighty years old. I panicked the first time when I couldn’t reverse the spell thinking I was stuck as an old man. Gaius had to make a potion that helped me change back.”

Morgana was staring at him. “But that means your spell affected time.”

“Probably.” He shrugged. “I can slow time so it makes sense I could speed it up.”

“You …”

She did not finish her sentence and her stare made him uncomfortable. From the story Gwen had told him, Morgause had used an aging spell herself so it could not be that remarkable.

“With that kind of power you could have ended Uther’s reign of terror any time you wished.”

“And then what?”

“You could rule.”

He shook his head.

She frowned with impatience. “You could have put Arthur on the throne sooner, then.”

“I would never use him as a puppet. Besides, an overthrow would embroil the kingdom in civil war. Everyone would suffer. You’ve done enough damage in your attempts these past few years.”

Her mouth tightened.

Merlin took advantage of her lack of retort to push further. “If you had told Arthur about your magic, he would have helped you. You could have shown him that magic can be a force for good instead of using it to attack him.”

“You are in no position to chastise anyone for keeping secrets.”

His jaw clenched.

“You stole my magic, you tried to kill me, you were responsible for my sister’s death, and I presume you are the reason Agravaine and his men never returned.” Her voice had risen.

He gave a guilty nod. It should have been the king who sat in judgement on the traitor, not Merlin choosing whether the man lived or died. Agravaine’s death had been necessary, but it was one more gut-wrenching act of violence to be endured to hide his secret a little longer. All to further the destiny he shared with Arthur. Except he no longer knew if that destiny would come to pass.

“All that time hiding your secrets from enemies and friends, and what do you have now?” Morgana said. When he made no answer she continued. “What will you do?”

Merlin narrowed his gaze at her. “Why do you care? Are you planning to attack Camelot again?” If she did, how would he stop her when he was no longer at Arthur’s side?

“How could I?” she asked softly. “I have no army, no sister, no allies except Aithusa.”

At the sound of her name, the little dragon lifted her head and croaked.

Morgana stroked the scaly head. “Arthur has proven he intends to continue his father’s persecution of magic and I can do nothing to stop him.”

“He’ll change his mind given time.” But would he? Had Merlin failed so badly there was no longer reason to hope?

Morgana shook her head sadly. “He won’t.”

The calm certainty in her voice was an icy fist crushing the hope in Merlin’s chest. He turned away, then looked up in surprise to find that Morgana had moved to crouch beside him, one hand on his arm.

“Don’t you see?” she said. “This is why you never killed me. Because you _know_. You know magic will have no place in Camelot until I take the throne.”

“No, Morgana.” He shook his head. “I will not help you. Arthur is the rightful king.”

They stared each other down for a long moment.

When Morgana sighed and moved away from him, Merlin pushed aside the doubts he refused to dwell on and concentrated on practical matters. “I need to find a village or a town where I can trade my medicinal herbs for supplies.”

“You’re leaving?” She sounded frightened.

When his gaze snapped to her face she quickly composed her features into a bland expression.

“We need blankets, waterskins, and more food.” He made a face at the fish which became less appetizing with every meal.

“We?” she asked with forced casualness.

He understood her wanting company – even his – after being captured by the Sarrum and spending weeks trapped in a dark pit. She was afraid he would abandon her, though she would not say so. She did not know he had decided to keep a close watch on her.

He also intended to monitor her relationship with Aithusa. Whatever the future held for Camelot without him, he would not allow the kingdom’s most dangerous enemy to twist the dragon’s loyalty to her into a weapon against the kingdom.

“Aithusa is coming with me. You can tag along if you choose.” He was certain she would follow her companion; they had clearly formed a close bond strengthened by their imprisonment together.

Morgana tossed her head, her knotted, dirty hair moving in a clump. “Aithusa will not leave me.”

“I can command her if it comes to that, but I think she wants to be with me.”

Aithusa’s scaly white head moved back and forth between them as they discussed her and her long tail twitched. Morgana’s fingers stroked the long neck and Aithusa croaked up at her, then Merlin stretched his hand toward the dragon and she pushed her nose into his palm. Morgana gave Aithusa a betrayed look.

Merlin sighed. “I meant what I said, you are welcome to come with me. We can help each other. I promise to abide by our truce as long as you do.” He waited while several emotions flickered across her face. “I intend to leave this place tomorrow, so today I’m going to pack as much fish and mushrooms,” his nose wrinkled, “as I can carry.” And build up his supply of medicinal plants if possible.

Merlin grimaced as he picked up the ripped, dirty neckerchief he had used for bandages and more recently to gather and transport mushrooms. It would have to serve as a food pouch for the journey which meant he would never get the smell of fish out of it or get it clean enough to wear again. “But first I need to clean up or I’ll get suspicious looks when I present myself as a healer. Although I could claim I was attacked by bandits; that would explain the state of my clothes and my lack of supplies.”

He glanced at the stream. The water was cold and the air nearly freezing, but it would have to do.

“I need to bathe, as well,” Morgana said with a tinge of red in her cheeks. “And wash these clothes.”

The witch in her hovel had adopted very different standards of grooming from the fabulously gowned king’s ward with the perfect hair, but her current state was immeasurably worse. The goat herder had smelled better. No one would offer them food or shelter.

“Yes,” he agreed.

Her face grew redder as he gazed at her but it appeared to be more anger than embarrassment now. “It’s hardly my fault that –”

“I know.” After his brief taste of captivity in Amata, he could imagine the horrors she had suffered in that dark hole. Her captor must have provided enough nourishment to keep her alive, but with her hands chained above her head she must have been forced to root for her food like an animal. “How did he give you water?”

Her humiliated expression made him want to bite his tongue at his insensitive curiosity.

“He poured it down the hole so I was forced to catch the stream in my mouth,” she said. “It was not always clean, nor was it always water.”

The implication made his gut wrench. “I’m sorry.”

She held his gaze without flinching. “About bathing.”

He was glad for the change of topic. “We’ll have to keep you as warm as possible and dry your clothes somehow before you get dressed.” Merlin frowned. He could use magic to heat water if they had a container large enough to bathe in but he could not warm a running stream. And she would not be able to stay in the cold water long enough to bathe as well as wash and dry her dress. “It won’t take me long to clean up. Then I can launder your clothes while you bathe.” Branches would work to spread the material out near the fire so it dried as quickly as possible and he could speed the process with magic, but they had to keep her warm in the meantime. “You could use my jacket as a towel and then wear it after you are done washing.”

“It’s pretty short,” she said as she eyed the brown garment.

A picture of Morgana wearing nothing but his jacket formed in his head and he felt his face heat up. A long time ago he would have been happy to imagine such a thing, but he and Morgana were past the point of thinking of each other as anything but enemies.

“R…right.” He gulped and averted his eyes from her. “You can wear my tunic.” Which piece of clothing was hardly clean and sported a blood-encrusted hole on the back, but it would protect her from the chilly air and was long enough to cover her thighs.

“Fine.” Morgana’s lips were tightly compressed and her cheeks were tinged with pink as she stood up and scanned the bank of the stream.

Aithusa fluttered her wings and launched herself into the sky.

The spot they had used as a camp was the best place to walk into the water, where the ground was rocky rather than sucking mud and the bristly trees were a little further from the bank. She waded in a few steps before beginning to wriggle out of her black dress.

Merlin concentrated intently on readying a few tall branches to use as a drying rack and ensured there was sufficient wood to feed the fire. When he heard the bundle of dampened cloth hit the water’s edge, he froze for a moment before he removed his boots and stockings and backed toward the stream.

He ignored Morgana’s splashing further out where the water was waist deep and dropped his jacket on the dry bank as he groped for the bundle of wet cloth she had left near the shore. His nose wrinkled again at the stench of the dress, worse than Arthur’s socks after a long patrol on a hot day, and quickly began washing.

The black cloth had hidden stains which turned the water a nasty yellowish brown. Merlin took care to stand upstream. The water also rinsed out what was unmistakably blood and for a moment he worried that Morgana had been wounded before he realized she had been held in that pit for several weeks. His stomach curdled. He had seen a great many wounded, sick, and dying both as a physician’s apprentice and at Arthur’s side in numerous battles, but it took every bit of willpower to keep washing and not toss away the dress in disgust. He turned his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut, helping the rinsing process with a whispered spell.

Finally the water ran clear so he weighted Morgana’s garment with a few heavy stones in the shallows and moved to quickly clean himself, keeping his breeches as dry as possible.

His hands and feet had nearly lost feeling before his work was done and he shivered without his jacket. Then he heard Morgana wade out to retrieve his jacket to use as a towel and his blood began to pump at a rate that made him considerably warmer. Which also made the air feel even colder as he pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it in her direction.

When his teeth began to chatter and he could no longer feel his toes, he decided he was as clean as he would get for now. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground as he waded out and gratefully reclaimed his jacket to put on despite its dampness. He carried Morgana’s wet clothing to the drying rack next to the fire, unable to entirely avoid seeing Morgana wearing nothing but his red tunic. She shivered and rubbed her arms as she huddled near the fire.

He bit his lip with an intensity that drew blood and focussed on spreading out the dress on its rack. A flash of his eyes encouraged the dress to dry more quickly. He turned his back to the flames and used the same spell to remove the dampness from his jacket and breeches before facing the fire again and tugging the jacket tighter across his bare chest. Merlin sat to put on his stockings and boots, wincing as his frozen toes began to thaw and tingle.

He glanced at Morgana and quickly away again. “Do you have any injuries that need tending?”

“No. When they captured me my powers were still weak. I wasn’t able to put up much of a fight.”

He felt her angry gaze and hunched his shoulders. It had been necessary to rob her of her powers before retaking Camelot, but that did not make it commendable. Stealing a person’s magic was a dark enchantment and he was ashamed at his elation for successfully working such a powerful spell.

“Aithusa tried to protect me but she’s so small and it only gave away how easily a threat against one of us could be used to control the other.”

Merlin risked a glance at Morgana’s face; there was only fear and sadness now. “What about the … the place where Sarrum’s bodyguard stabbed you?” His eyes fixed on the scabbed wound on her chest, visible where the neckline of his tunic draped far lower on her than it did on him.

Her fingers trailed over the mark. He gulped.

“I washed it and used a healing spell. It will be fine.”

“I can make a salve to help heal the abrasions on your wrists.”

“I said I’m fine.” Her eyes flicked to the tear in his trouser leg where the makeshift bandage showed through, blue cloth beneath the brown. “You tend to your own injuries. There is a nasty scar on your back that looks like an arrow wound besides that puncture on your leg.”

Of course, she would have seen his back when he was shirtless a few moments ago. The thought sent a shiver up his spine. “It’s taken care of.” His voice sounded squeaky and he cleared his throat.

Morgana raised a brow. “Why didn’t you just use a healing spell?”

He shrugged.

She gaped at him. “You can bend time and call up the kind of power Emrys almost killed me with but you can’t heal a simple wound?”

“Healing magic is difficult. The human body is physiologically complex with –”

“You’re thinking like a physician, not a healer.” She got to her feet and moved behind him.

He tensed when her hand slipped under his jacket and he heard her muttering. The moment she took her hand away he rolled his shoulder back and forth, surprised there was not even a twinge.

She stood to run a hand across the black lace of her dress. “It’s nearly dry. I can give you your tunic back if you’re cold.”

“All right.” He turned his back so she could change clothes.

Merlin heard the rustle of cloth. His tunic landed on the ground beside him. He shrugged off his jacket, pulled the red tunic over his head, and donned his jacket while trying to avoid any thought of Morgana naked behind him. He waited until she was seated, fully dressed, at the far side of the campfire again before he moved. His hands trembled as he disassembled the branches he had spread the wet garment on and stacked them neatly with the firewood.

Morgana was briskly rubbing her arms. She turned her back to the fire to warm it, then turned again and hunkered closer to the flames.

His palms were damp and he wiped them on his jacket. “I’m going to see what useful plants I can find nearby before we leave tomorrow.”

She nodded without looking his way and he headed away from their little camp with as much haste as he could.

~

The next day when they left, they followed the stream to ensure a source of drinking water. Their proximity to the stream also allowed Morgana to wash, which she did daily, scrubbing her hands and face and hair as if attempting to wash away any memory of her time in captivity. Merlin kept himself and his clothing as presentable as possible, though he could do little about the dark stubble on his face, and gathered as many usable plants as he could find. Aithusa flew above them, sometimes disappearing in the distance, but always joining them when they stopped walking to eat or make camp.

Morgana woke screaming at least once each night, disoriented in the dark until Merlin could assure her that she and Aithusa were no longer trapped in Sarrum’s pit. He grew accustomed to snapping awake at the first cry and calling a ball of light, though the witchlight was less necessary as the moon grew fuller.

The nights were increasingly colder and a few mornings they awoke to see frost coating the bare branches of trees. Walking beside the stream they were mostly sheltered from autumn breezes by heavy brush or the tall bank but when they were forced to veer away from the stream because the foliage was too thick or the bank too steep, the air moving across the open, rocky ground was chilly. Morgana’s lace-covered arms were usually cold, so they shared his brown jacket, though he often passed up his turn with the assurance that he was warm enough despite his shivers. He missed his neckerchief, his neck frequently feeling colder than his hands or face.

The ripped piece of cloth he had used to bandage his leg had been discarded, the wound nothing more than a scab and faint ache. From what he could feel, the spot on his back was entirely healed. He was equally impressed at Morgana’s skill with healing magic and disappointed she made so little use of her talent.

The remainder of what had been his blue neck scarf now served as a carrying bag to supplement his small pouch. Both were stuffed with herbs, mushrooms, roots, and other plants, some of which they used as foodstuffs, but mostly raw materials for medicines. Hopefully they would come across a settlement soon that had need of remedies he could trade for bread and blankets.

The sky was cloudy today but the air was warmer. When they spotted a tiny collection of dwellings huddled around the stream some distance ahead, Merlin hoped they would be able to barter for supplies and, with luck, a cloak for Morgana. Then he could have his brown jacket back, thin and worn though it was.

While Merlin and Morgana were still a good distance away from the settlement, shouts echoed toward them. A figure ran from the buildings chased by four more figures, all larger than the fugitive. One of them picked up a rock and hurled it. The rock made contact with the fugitive’s back and a woman cried in pain.

The other pursuers stopped to pick up and hurl anything they could find at the fleeing figure. She ran faster, arms wrapped around her head for protection. She reached a stand of trees that helped block the projectiles and kept running, dodging among the bare trunks until she could no longer be seen.

Once she was out of sight, her four pursuers gestured among themselves, clearly debating whether to follow her. They went back to their dwellings, hurling a few final warning shouts after the vanished woman.

“Why did they chase her away?” Merlin wondered aloud.

Morgana shrugged. “Why would we care? These people probably have blankets and clothes and something to eat besides fish and mushrooms.” She grimaced.

Merlin scowled at her. “There was a time when you would have cared about that woman and what happened to her.”

Morgana’s spine stiffened. “This is no longer my kingdom and whoever she is, she is not my concern.”

He glared at her, reminded that Morgana had long since lost interest in anyone’s welfare other than her own. Except for Aithusa. And possibly Mordred, wherever he was.

Merlin looked longingly toward the group of dwellings, thinking of blankets and bread and sausage and cloth for a neckerchief. Then he set off for the wooded area where the woman had disappeared.

“Where are you going?” Morgana asked.

He ignored her and kept walking. Above them, Aithusa shrieked and circled.

As Merlin neared the trees, he ordered the little dragon to find the person who had fled into the woods but to stay back from her. Aithusa obediently flew off. Behind him, Morgana shouted, whether at him or the dragon he could not tell.

The wooded area was larger than he had thought. It was several minutes until Aithusa ended her aerial search and began circling one location. When Merlin approached the spot, a frightened voice called for him to stop. By then, he could see the cloaked figure crouched beside a tree with one hand braced against the rough bark, panting.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Her face turned toward him and he saw long strands of reddish-brown hair stuck to her sweat-streaked face. She could not have been older than he was, possibly a little younger. She collapsed against the tree trunk and sank to the cold ground.

Merlin walked slowly closer and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “I’ll leave, I promise. I just need to catch my breath.”

“Why did you have to leave?”

Her eyes came to his face then and she frowned, finally realizing he was not one of the people who had chased her away. “Who are you?”

“A traveler. I saw you running away. Do you need help?”

Her eyes travelled up and down his red tunic and brown breeches. “You’re not a Druid.”

“No.” He looked closer at the woman. Her cloak resembled a typical Druid garment but the dress underneath did not appear to be one of the robes worn by those he had encountered in Druid camps. “Are you?”

Her face paled. “No.” She shook her head but her hands were trembling. “I’m not, I told them I’m not.”

Her gaze went past him and he heard a footfall on the dead branches not far behind him.

Morgana regarded the two of them with a scowl, her arms crossed, but the young woman seemed to relax slightly in the presence of another woman.

“We were about to rest and have a meal,” Merlin told her. “There’s enough to share.”

The girl’s eyes went back and forth between Merlin and Morgana before she gave a slight nod. Merlin took her arm, surprised when she winced. He moved aside her cloak and pushed up her sleeve gently. Her arm showed the red imprint of a man’s hand, already darkening to a bluish colour. There was also a faded tattoo of three interconnected blue swirls.

Her expression was fearful but he only took her arm more cautiously, careful to avoid the bruises, and helped her to her stand.

Overhead, Aithusa croaked and the young woman looked up, her eyes widening at the scaly, white creature floating at the level of the treetops above her. She gave a startled cry.

“That’s Aithusa,” Merlin said. “She’s with us.”

“Oh.” The young woman smoothed down her sleeve and glanced over her shoulder. “I should keep going. They told me to go.”

“Let’s go, then. I’m Merlin, by the way.”

Her eyes widened and she gasped. “The sorcerer that enchanted King Arthur and his entire court for years until he was discovered and exiled?”

Merlin clenched his jaw. “I’m a sorcerer and I was at court with Arthur, yes.”

The young woman’s eyes went to Morgana.

“This is …” He paused, thinking it might be best if no one else knew Morgana’s whereabouts. “Morgan le Fay.”

Morgana raised a brow but did not contradict him.

The young woman bobbed her head. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Sefa.”

Merlin gave her his best smile. “Hello, Sefa. We were following the stream headed south if you want to join us.”

Sefa smiled gratefully and nodded.

Morgana gave a pointed glance back toward the settlement. When Merlin led Sefa in the opposite direction, with an order to Aithusa to accompany them, Morgana huffed and followed.

Merlin talked quietly with Sefa while Morgana followed, lips compressed in a tight line. Aithusa took up a position at tree height, circling above their heads, not drifting too far away.

“I’m not really a Druid,” the young woman said. “My family was, but after Mother was executed, Father chose to take up weapons. Bearing arms is against the Druids’ beliefs so Father was asked to leave the tribe. Truly, we are no longer Druids.”

“But the people at that village refused to offer you shelter? I didn’t think it was a crime to be a Druid in Mercia.”

Sefa turned wide eyes to him. “We’re not in Mercia, we’re in Camelot.”

For a moment Merlin froze, his heart thudding in his chest. Kilgharrah had said he delivered them to Mercia, but they must have gone far enough south to cross the border.

“It’s not safe to be a Druid in Camelot,” Morgana said, the first words she had spoken in an hour.

Merlin shot her an irritated glance. “King Arthur made peace with the Druids; it’s no longer forbidden for them to travel anywhere in the kingdom.”

Sefa appeared taken aback. “He is a Pendragon, raised to hunt and kill our people. Father says that Pendragons are good for nothing except death.”

“Arthur is not like his father.” Merlin ignored Morgana’s scornful smirk. “He and his knights would ensure your safety. Trust me.”

Sefa’s brow wrinkled. “But you’re a fugitive, too.”

Her statement was like a blow to a raw wound.

She appeared not to notice his wince as she continued talking. “The people I have encountered in Camelot are not friendly to Druids. I try to hide the mark, it’s hardly visible anymore any way, but that man saw it.”

“I’m sorry they treated you that way,” Merlin said.

His automatic response was to reassure her that things would not always be like that, but the words turned to dust on his tongue. Instead, he asked about their location. From Sefa’s description, they were at the northern edge of Camelot, an area he had once passed through with Arthur and his patrol. The memory made his gut twist.

Once they were far enough away from the village, they stopped to rest and eat and make camp for the night. Sefa was startled when Aithusa landed beside them. The Druid girl watched nervously until she was certain the creature showed no inclination to attack. She relaxed when Merlin and Morgana calmly acknowledged the dragon, though she carefully kept her distance.

Merlin’s new companion was grateful for the fish and mushrooms he offered and thankfully had bread and dried apple with her. Merlin and Morgana both devoured more than their share of the bread and apples while Sefa was pleased to have a change of diet herself.

Once their meal was done, the Druid girl slumped where she sat, chin on her updrawn knees, plainly exhausted from her earlier ordeal. Morgana and Aithusa sat together on the far side of the fire, Morgana with Merlin’s brown jacket wrapped around her shoulders.

Merlin used a few of his herbs mixed with a bit of water to create an ointment which he offered for Sefa’s bruised arm. The marks had turned purple and she tensed when his fingers brushed against them, but she sighed with relief when he applied the salve.

“Thank you, Merlin. That will make it much easier to sleep.”

Firelight illuminated one side of her face and turned her reddish-brown hair a glowing auburn. He was tempted to tuck the loose strands of hair behind her ear. She was quite pretty, he suddenly thought; not jaw-dropping beautiful like Morgana but attractive. He was glad darkness hid the heat that crept into his face as he held her arm. Quickly, he busied his hands with smoothing down her sleeve.

“Why did your father take up arms?” he asked, keeping his attention on his tasks and away from her deep brown eyes as he put away what remained of the ointment.

“To prepare for the coming war,” Sefa said calmly.

“What war?”

“The war of liberation, he calls it. The war against the Pendragon to free our people.”

Merlin sensed Morgana’s sudden intense interest and sighed inwardly. The last thing he needed was for her to find an ally in her quest for Camelot’s throne while he was exiled.

“Sefa.” Merlin put his hands on the girl’s shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. “I promise you that King Arthur has made peace with Druids. There is no reason for war.”

Morgana made a derisive sound. He refused to glance in her direction.

“It’s more than that.” Sefa’s voice lowered to a whisper. “My father is a sorcerer. He’ll never be safe in the Five Kingdoms until the Pendragons are no more. That’s why he is searching for the key.”

“Key?”

“The key to all knowledge that will tell him how to defeat the Pendragon. It is his sacred duty.”

That did not bode well for Arthur or Camelot.

“Father has been searching for years now.”

Merlin felt his heart rate slow. So the man was not an immediate threat, if he was an actual threat and not merely a deluded fanatic.

“He says King Arthur is destined to die by a Druid’s hand. Once my father finds the key, he will be the one to finally free this land.”

A Druid. Mordred was a Druid. But he was much too young to be this woman’s father.

“Where is your father now?”

“He went to Helva, in Odin’s kingdom.”

“He didn’t take you with him?”

Sefa shook her head. “He sent me to Camelot.”

Merlin caught his breath. “To Camelot? Why?”

“I’m to find employment within the city, in the citadel if I can. My father said he would contact me there.”

The man was using his daughter as a spy? That put her in serious danger. Merlin would have to get word to Gaius, warn the old man that Sefa’s father was an enemy, and ask the physician to keep an eye on her but also to keep her from harm. And keep her away from Morgana.

Merlin glanced at the sorceress. He needed to get Sefa safely on her way to Camelot and get a message to Gaius at the same time. If only Merlin could hand the young woman off to a patrol, but a patrol would be under orders to arrest him immediately. He could accomplish it if he had the good fortune to bump into Gwaine, or maybe Percival or Elyan or even Leon, but the odds of such a fortunate chance encounter this far north were slim.

“Perhaps you can help me,” Sefa said.

For a moment Merlin was perplexed.

“Help me find employment in the citadel since you’ve been there.”

The Druid girl laid a hand on his arm and he felt the warmth of her hand through the thin sleeve of his tunic. He found himself transfixed by warm brown eyes holding his gaze eagerly.

“You’re a sorcerer; you understand how important my father’s mission is.”

“Yes, Emrys, you can help her.” Morgana smirked at him.

Merlin sent her a warning look over his shoulder and turned back to Sefa only to find her staring at him open-mouthed.

“Emrys?” she whispered. “You’re Emrys?”

Inwardly he cringed. “Yes.”

“My father has told me those legends since childhood.”

The awed expression on Sefa’s face was making his insides squirm and he was aware of Morgana’s interest in what the Druid girl had revealed.

“What legends?” Morgana asked.

Sefa’s eyes remained fixed on Merlin. “Emrys is the most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the earth; the one who will unite the old world with the new and bring about the golden age, the time of magic.”

Merlin’s face was growing hot although he had his back to the fire. He risked a glance at Morgana to find her regarding him with a look that was both gratifying and worrying in its intensity.

“Once the Pendragons are all dead, Emrys can fulfill his destiny.”

“That’s not right,” Merlin said, startled.

“My father was a learned man,” Sefa said. “He says when the last Pendragon is gone, Emrys can fulfill his destiny to return magic and bring about the time of the Once and Future King. He will engineer the birth of a new king and raise the child to be a patron of magic.”

That was an odd twist to the prophecies Kilgharrah had hinted at. Merlin’s shocked expression must have puzzled the Druid girl because she frowned at him.

He schooled his features and patted her arm reassuringly. “In the morning we’ll discuss how to find you a place in Camelot. Meantime you need to rest.”

“If you are Emrys, I know you’ll accomplish all that is needed. My father will be so pleased to know you are really here.” With a soft sigh, Sefa pulled her cloak around herself in place of a blanket and stretched out on the ground, her eyes closing immediately.

Merlin left her to move around to the far side of the fire and sit beside Morgana with Aithusa between them, pressed against their legs. The little dragon was most content when she could be near both of them and seemed to appreciate physical contact.

When Merlin took his eyes away from Sefa’s peaceful face he found Morgana’s gaze on him, her mouth twisted in a sneer that had become far too typical. Although she seemed less an evil witch while wearing his brown jacket.

“Sefa’s quite taken with you.”

He gave an embarrassed shrug. “She’s just grateful for our company.”

“You still have a weakness for outcasts.” Morgana’s gaze moved between him and the sleeping girl. “Especially Druids.”

“What do you mean?”

One dark eyebrow rose. “I mean bursting into my chambers with a little Druid boy in tow, one every guard and knight in Camelot was searching for. Which would have gotten you executed along with him if they had caught you.”

Well, yes, there was that.

“And that girl.”

“What girl?”

The sly look on Morgana’s face worried him. It was the same expression she wore while plotting some evil scheme to take over the kingdom. “When Arthur complained to me you were stealing his sausages, insufferably self-conscious about getting fat, I only thought it was time you started eating more. You’re far too skinny.” Her eyes ran down him seeming to look right through the red tunic.

He shivered, though not because she had his jacket.

“But when my purple dress disappeared, and Gwen admitted you took it, and the city was being turned upside down in search of an escaped Druid girl, there really was only one possible explanation. I assume she escaped wearing my purple silk?”

A familiar coldness enveloped the empty hole in Merlin’s chest at Freya’s memory. “I buried her in it.”

Morgana’s smirk was replaced by surprise. “Oh.”

His gaze fastened on the flames, seeing instead the burning boat growing smaller as it floated away.

“That girl meant something to you.” Morgana sounded bewildered.

“Yes.”

“I thought …”

Her shocked tone made him turn to face her. “What?”

“I thought you and Arthur … I mean, you have always been so devoted to him.”

A wry chuckle escaped Merlin.

Morgana was still staring at him in confusion. “But then, why did you reject Gwen?”

“We’re happiest as friends, we agreed on that.”

The dark brows were knitted. “But why did you ignore my overtures so completely?”

It was his turn to be confused. “What?”

“I allowed you to give me flowers, permitted you to enter my chambers at night, but you offered nothing other than friendship.”

Merlin’s face grew hot. “I would never offend you by … by taking liberties. You were brave and beautiful and kind and I admired you.” It was painful to admit his actions had helped destroy that good in her.

“Yet you chose Arthur over me. You chose to uphold his kingdom rather than build mine.”

“I agree with your goal, not your methods.” And that, more than anything, was what made them enemies. “Your agreement to help Morgause put the entire kingdom at risk; there would have been no peace under her reign, nothing but more bloodshed. I believe in a world of peace and freedom, a world Arthur will build.”

Her expression changed from surprise to contempt. “If you’re not blinded by love, why would you ever believe Arthur will be the one to build that world?”

“He is a good man and a good king. He will be the greatest king Camelot has ever known.”

“But he will not free magic. You know that now.”

Merlin wanted to shout that it was Arthur’s destiny to free magic. Isn’t that what Kilgharrah had promised? A dragon with a thousand years of knowledge? But Kilgharrah had been wrong at times – wrong to attack Camelot, wrong to counsel him to let the child Mordred die, perhaps wrong to advise killing Morgana.

“Arthur has been king for nearly a year and nothing has changed. Nothing will change until I take the throne.”

Merlin shook his head. “You are an illegitimate daughter with no supporters, no army. If you take the throne Camelot will be plunged into years of civil war. The blood will never wash off.”

“I don’t need an army.”

There was a suggestive note in her voice that made him look at her sharply.

“I have you, _Emrys_.” Morgana’s eyes were bright.

“No.”

“You will allow our kin to suffer? To be hunted and persecuted, driven out with rocks merely for seeking food and shelter?”

Merlin’s gaze was drawn to Sefa, bruised and exhausted, sleeping by the fire.

“Are you content to live your life as an outcast? Looking over your shoulder, worried a Camelot patrol will seize you for the crime of being in Arthur’s kingdom?”

He gritted his teeth.

“We can change that.” Morgana shifted closer, reaching a hand to lay on his arm.

The warmth of her fingers tingled on his arm.

“It doesn’t have to be permanent. I will rule only long enough to return magic to the kingdom, for Arthur to see that sorcery is not evil. That _you_ are not evil. To see you for who you really are.”

Perhaps she could help him show Arthur that his father had been wrong, force him to listen, to understand. Merlin would not allow Morgana to harm Arthur or anyone. In fact, if Arthur saw her helping people again, even if those she was helping had magic, he might finally understand fear and anger, not her powers, had corrupted her. She still had a caring heart, she proved that with her devotion to Aithusa.

Heat from her hand seeped through the thin material of his sleeve. It was odd to see her wrist adorned in black lace poking out from the coarse brown cloth of his jacket. Darkness had fallen and the moon was not yet risen so her face was lit only by the firelight. Her hair, though not brushed in the shining waves that had cloaked her as king’s ward, gleamed darkly. His pulse quickened and he hoped she could not see the flush creeping into his face.

She leaned toward him, or maybe he was leaning toward her, but her face was very close to his. Her eyes fastened on his lips, her pupils darkened, and her breath shortened.

Abruptly he stood, hands clenched at his sides, the air suddenly cool against his warm cheeks.

Morgana stood when he did, so close to him that her skirt brushed his legs. She shrugged his jacket off her shoulders and he found himself looking down at the deep scoop of her neckline, black lace outlining smooth, pale skin. She slid her arms around his waist, pulling him even closer.

“What are you doing?” His voice was hoarse.

She tilted her head and raised a brow. “Following a sage piece of advice: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“Stop it, Morgana.” He took her arms away and stepped back out of reach. “I’m not going to help you tear this kingdom apart again.”

Her jaw tightened. “I only want what you want: to make this land safe for our kin, to live without constantly looking over my shoulder, always afraid.”

Her eyes were shining, her chest rapidly rising and falling. His breath hitched. He could not dispute that their end goal was the same, though their ways of achieving that goal had taken conflicting paths.

For a long moment they stared at each other until finally Merlin looked away.

“Just think about it,” Morgana said softly.

She dropped to the ground and curled up beside Aithusa, drawing his brown jacket over herself for warmth.

Merlin stared down at her, her knees drawn tight to her chest and arms wrapped around herself with her head resting against the dragon’s luminous scales. Finally he lay down next to Aithusa, hands tucked under his arms for warmth, and tried to silence his doubts about Kilgharrah’s version of the prophecies, tried to hold on to his conviction that Arthur was magic’s only hope.

When the eastern horizon reddened, Merlin shifted tiredly, his eyes heavy. He had slept at most an hour or two, despite this being the first night Morgana had not woken up screaming from a nightmare. Throughout the long night, he had relived every adventure with Arthur since their first meeting; every time he had saved the arrogant prince’s life, every argument they had had, every moment of friendship Arthur denied, every indication the self-absorbed boy was growing into a capable and benevolent king. Merlin had pictured the sun-drenched clearing where Arthur stood with one gloved hand wrapped around the golden hilt of a sword, pulsing with magic, held high above his head. Then Merlin saw that same sword clatter at his feet in the crowded hall and heard Arthur’s voice telling him to leave and never come back. None of it told him what to do now.

At least the sleepless night had given him time to decide what to do about Sefa: he would write a letter to Gaius which she could take with her asking the physician to find her a place in the city. Using a spell, he would add a few lines of warning to the letter which would only be visible to Gaius through his magnifying glass advising him about Sefa’s father and her real mission. After she was on her way, Merlin would head in the general direction of Odin’s kingdom to intercept her father should he return to Camelot.

By the time Morgana and Sefa stirred in their bedrolls, Merlin had risen, washed, scouted the best routes for their separate journeys, and prepared breakfast. Sefa gave him a grateful look from her pretty brown eyes at his offer of a letter and he hoped she would not turn out to be an enemy.

Once breakfast was done, they set off in the direction of a small village Merlin remembered was not far to the south, which he had passed through in the company of Arthur’s patrol. The village had an inn and almost certainly someone would want medicinal remedies which he could barter in return for supplies. Merlin mentally ran through their list of needs: blankets, a cloak for Morgana, bread, waterskins, parchment, use of a quill and ink.


	6. Refuge

“Thank you, Merlin.” Sefa clutched the letter and looked up at him. A few strands of reddish-brown hair curled around her face, sunlight turning them more red than brown. “For this and for all your help.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek.

Merlin caught Morgana’s narrow stare and felt his face heat up, hoping his short beard hid his blush and fairly certain she could see it anyway.

He returned his gaze to Sefa. “About your father …”

“He would be so pleased to know I met you,” she said excitedly. “Perhaps one day you’ll meet him.”

“Maybe.” Merlin forced a casual tone. “What’s his name? I’ll be heading in the direction of Helva.”

“Ruadan.” Sefa smiled widely. “He has not much hair anymore and his beard is mostly grey, but he’s tall and strong and wears his sword as proudly as his Druid tattoo.”

Few Druids went armed, so the man would not be hard to find. “I’ll watch for him.”

The young woman said her farewell to Morgana and then set off south toward Camelot. When she was nearly out of sight, Sefa turned back to wave. Merlin lifted his hand in farewell before he turned his back to the morning sun and headed for Odin’s kingdom.

After he and Morgana had walked in silence for some time, she spoke suddenly behind him.

“Are you seeking her father to help him or to make sure he is no threat to Arthur?”

Merlin stopped and turned slowly to face her. The cloak they had obtained for her was brown, only slightly less somber than the black mourning clothes she had worn continuously since Morgause’s illness. It was a far cry from the bold colours she had worn in Camelot, but the simple woolen garment made her look less sinister than unrelieved black.

“The man is probably on a fool’s errand, searching for a key to all knowledge.” It would be better for everyone if Morgana thought it a fool’s errand, certainly.

“But you are curious about what he knows of the legends, aren’t you?” Morgana’s green eyes were all too knowing. “What he knows about you?”

Merlin shrugged as casually as he could. “If we happen to meet him, I can give him word of his daughter, that’s all.”

“A situation made more likely by the fact we are heading west now.”

“I’ve never seen Helva, and magic isn’t illegal in Odin’s kingdom. It’s a logical place to go.”

Morgana only smiled and gave an exaggerated gesture for him to lead the way.

He hesitated, apprehensive about Morgana searching with him for a potential enemy of Camelot but equally concerned what she might do if left to herself. Adding to his uncertainty was a longing for human companionship. While Aithusa’s company filled a bit of the emptiness, he could not have a conversation with her.

What twisted part of his mind considered his heated arguments with Morgana ‘conversation’? Maybe it was simply the open honesty. He had no reason to trust Morgana but there was no need to conceal anything about himself around her, either. The better Morgana understood what he was capable of, the safer he and everyone else were. He had nothing to hide from her anymore, which felt good because normally he held himself in check so people did not treat him with confused wariness the way they had in Ealdor.

Once they reached Helva he would deal with whatever they found. Meantime, Morgana’s company meant he did not have to travel alone.

~

Leon steeled his nerves as he waited for the members of Arthur’s council to leave before he approached the king and queen. He had never disobeyed his sovereign’s orders before; well, he might have creatively interpreted his orders a time or two but that was when he served Uther, never under Arthur. Leon had never questioned Arthur’s judgement, until now.

He took a deep breath and approached the royals seated at the head of the Council table. “Sire.”

Arthur smiled. “Sir Leon, what is it?”

“I hope you will forgive my forthrightness, but I believe you acted unjustly.”

The smile vanished and Arthur’s chin came up. “You know I value your opinion, Leon, but I hope you have a good reason for such a complaint.”

“I believe you judged Merlin hastily.”

The king’s mouth tightened. “I made it clear no one was to mention that name in my presence.”

“You did,” Leon said unflinchingly. “If Merlin’s only thought had been to put you on the throne and see magic practiced again, he would have let you kill your father a few years ago in this very room.”

Gwen gasped, her eyes darting between the knight and her husband.

It had been the most terrifying moment of Leon’s life, worse than any battle. Merlin had convinced him to open the doors to that room and he had seen the king he was sworn to protect pinned by the sword of the prince he was sworn to obey. Leon had frozen with indecision. Then Merlin had spoken to Arthur and the prince dropped to his knees, head in his father’s lap. Merlin had single-handedly saved the kingdom from self-destruction in that moment and no one outside that room would ever be allowed to know. Mere suspicion about the prince’s attempt on his father’s life was dangerous knowledge. Yet Merlin never tried to profit from what he had seen, never used his knowledge against the king or held it over Arthur’s head.

 “I know why you were furious with your father that day and you should know that what you were told was the truth. As a child of your father’s First Knight, I spent much time at the citadel and I remember Nimueh. I also remember a conversation my parents had shortly after you were born, about how the king blamed the sorceress for his wife’s death because she had traded Ygraine’s life for the life of the prince. A son conceived by magic.”

“No. That story was a lie cooked up by Morgause who has since proven her treachery. Merlin said it was a lie.” The king caught himself then and his brow furrowed.

Arthur had trusted Merlin implicitly; even in his fury he had heeded Merlin’s voice. The knight had not seen Arthur respond to anyone else that way, including his father.

“Merlin told you it was a lie to keep you from doing something you would forever regret, that would have torn this kingdom apart, even though his life would have been easier and safer had Uther died.”

Leon glanced at the queen. She was staring at him, teeth clamped on her lower lip, brow furrowed. When he held her gaze steadily, she turned to stare at Arthur.

The king’s cold glare was fixed on his knight’s face. “Is there anything else you have to say, Sir Leon?”

“Yes.” The knight drew the blade he wore, laid it across his palms, and held it out toward Arthur. The gold hilt shone more brightly than the waning light from the stained glass windows above. “It is a beautiful sword, Sire, the best I have ever held. A fitting sword for a king. The balance is almost perfect and the blade does not dull or need polishing. I am honoured that I was present to see you claim this sword from the stone it was buried in.”

Arthur glared at the blade but there was hunger in his eyes, as well. “I told you to destroy that sword.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“You didn’t.”

“No, Sire.”

“If you can’t destroy it, then you keep it.”

“It’s not mine to keep. Merlin said it was meant for you.”

Arthur’s gaze was drawn again to the shining blade. “That sword reeks of magic. I do not condone the use of magic.”

“Perhaps you should change that.”

The king’s eyes flashed. “You should return to your duties. And take that sword with you. I don’t care what you do with it, but do not bring it into my sight again.”

“Yes, Sire. I will not bring it to you until you ask me to.” Leon executed a perfunctory bow, sheathed the sword, and departed.

The moment he was out of the Council chamber and around the corner he allowed himself to slump against the wall and drew several deep breaths. Arthur was a good man but his temper was terrible and it had been often in evidence lately. Leon was lucky he had not been dismissed on the spot.

Finally, he straightened and headed for the armoury.

~

The crows were the first ominous sign when Merlin and Morgana came upon a village three days later. The birds, dark and noisy, were the only evidence of industrious activity around the collection of huts. Despite being midmorning, no smoke rose among the buildings and no human voice could be heard. The gardens were thick with stiff, yellow plants which had died untended and even from a distance the disarray was evident: a scattering of tools and overturned baskets of rotted vegetables. Beyond the gardens, the grain in the field had shriveled where it stood with no hand to harvest it before the frosts. The only tracks around the gardens were wolf prints.

Over the loud complaints of crows, Merlin and Morgana crossed the packed dirt of the village square. Bodies of men along with their wives and daughters remained unburied, abandoned to the mercy of birds and animals. No boys or young men, alive or dead, had been left behind.

“This is the work of your friend, Helios.” Merlin glared at Morgana. “Gathering recruits for that army you marched into Camelot.”

Morgana stiffened. “How many children did Uther sacrifice? How many more will die before the laws are changed?”

“How does that justify abducting boys to make them into soldiers? Murdering their families and destroying their homes so they have nowhere to run? Or burning crops so people would be forced to watch their children starve for the crime of loyalty to their rightful king?”

“Morgause taught me the price to be paid in war. A few deaths in exchange for freedom from tyranny.”

“You did nothing to free our kin,” Merlin said bitterly. “You were too busy trying to force Camelot to bow before you.”

“Your way was so much better: do nothing and wait.” Morgana’s lip curled. “All the freedom those with magic enjoy under Arthur, freedom to run and hide.”

Merlin pursed his lips and glanced around. The carnage had happened after planting season, probably shortly before Beltane, so anything of use in the village would long since have been scavenged. Perhaps the next village had fared better.

They walked in stony silence as the sun moved from their left shoulders to above their heads. Finally, the cool breeze brought with it the smell of smoke and the sounds and stink of chickens and pigs. Beyond a low hill, another group of huts huddled around a patch of dusty ground surrounded by the bare earth of cultivated gardens. Merlin stopped and pulled Morgana back out of sight of the figures he could see moving about.

“They won’t have much to share,” he said, “but I can make myself useful and hope they offer us a meal and shelter for the evening.” It would be a welcome change to sleep under a roof, even for only a night or two.

“What about Aithusa?”

“She’ll have to stay out of sight.” Merlin called the white dragon down to them to explain that she needed to make herself scarce until they resumed their journey.

Aithusa’s bald white head shook from side to side, her neck curved to the ground and blue eyes peering up at him.

“It’s only for a day, two at the most,” Merlin coaxed, loath to command her.

Morgana dropped to her knees in the dirt and held out her arms under her brown cloak. Aithusa placed her snout on Morgana’s shoulder and she patted the scaly neck. “It’s not safe for you in the village.”

The dragon’s wide, blue eyes blinked at Merlin over Morgana’s shoulder. Though she could not yet speak, her emotions came through clearly: dismay and anxiousness.

Comfortingly, he put one hand on the top of her head where the nubs of her horns were forming. Then he took his hand away and stepped back. “ _Ithi_.”

Though she made her displeasure known with a backward glance, the dragon obediently lifted into the air. Aithusa’s wings whipped up enough wind to toss dark curls into Morgana’s face and add to the layer of dust and dry leaves coating her cloak.

Merlin coughed and blinked, waving one hand to clear the air in front of his face.

Morgana remained kneeling, face upturned, as the white form shrank in the distance and finally vanished. Then she got to her feet, tossed her dark hair back over the loose hood of her cloak, and headed toward the settlement.

Young children and elderly men tended the communal gardens closest to the village, scratching out the last vegetables and herbs to be stored for winter. Elderly women whose eyesight and shaking hands should no longer have been suited to spinning, weaving, and sewing could be seen through open doors and windows bent over their tasks. The younger women must be away doing men’s work in the field or cutting wood.

These would be survivors of Helios’s raid: young children and elderly who were beneath notice, women and girls who had been lucky enough or swift enough to make it to hiding spots in the surrounding forest. No boys. Merlin already knew the fate of the men, although here at least there had been survivors to bury them.

He and Morgana walked into the village, paying no attention to the geese that protested their trespass onto the dusty ground among the dwellings. A tired-looking woman was attempting to set the broken arm of an elderly man. Three young girls sat in the dust beside a tiny dwelling and watched her silently, their faces drawn, one holding an infant in her dirty arms.

Merlin crouched beside the woman. “Can I help? I’m a healer.”

The woman sighed in relief and allowed Merlin to take over the treatment.

“He’s too old for this work,” she said in a hoarse voice. “But …” She shrugged rather than finish her sentence, her gaze circling the remnants of village residents. “Harvest isn’t finished, we don’t have enough wood yet to last the winter, and frost has come.”

The infant wailed.

“Olwen,” the woman said sharply. “Keep him quiet. I have to return to the field now.”

A girl with unkempt brown curls and smudged face frowned. “It’s not my fault. He’s hungry.”

“We’re all hungry.” The woman put one hand on her back as she stood and arched her back. Her expression softened slightly as she looked at the children. “Do your best. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“But it’s Olwen’s turn to make porridge,” one of the other girls protested. “She can’t watch the baby, too.”

“I’ll take the baby.” Morgana stepped forward and held out her arms.

The girl holding the infant glanced at her mother, who shrugged before striding away.

Olwen handed the baby to Morgana and then ordered her younger sisters to help their grandfather with the gardening before she disappeared into the hut nearest them.

“There.” Merlin patted the old man’s tightly wrapped arm. “It will be fine in a few weeks.”

The elderly villager grunted. “It will have to be fine right now, my work won’t wait a few weeks.” He winced only slightly as he picked up the hoe beside him and moved off toward the village gardens, trailed by the two girls.

Merlin looked in the direction the woman had headed, then glanced uncertainly at Morgana. Her gaze was fixed on the infant in her arms as the child chewed contentedly on the edge of her brown cloak.

“I should help.” Merlin gestured in the direction of the fields. “They’ll need another pair of hands and a strong back. Then we’ll be able to share in the evening meal later and ask for a place to sleep.”

“Fine. Go on then,” Morgana said without looking up.

He hesitated a moment longer, unsettled by the incongruous sight of Morgana in her brown woolen cloak holding a baby. She barely resembled the highborn lady who had graced Uther’s castle, nor did she look like the sorceress who had occupied that foul-smelling shack with her tangled knot of hair and black mourning dress. Moments ago she had been defending the actions of her barbarian ally who had razed this village in his quest for recruits, now she seemed content to care for a stranger’s peasant babe.

Merlin shook his head and gave up trying to make sense of anything Morgana did.

~

The village women were grateful for Merlin’s assistance, anxious to harvest as much barley as could be saved before the next frost. It felt good, too, to be busy; to focus on simple, repetitive, never-ending tasks that demanded strength but not thought and to see a tangible result from the hours of labour. The growing piles of grain would feed this village in the coming year and provide seed for next season.

They worked until the sun touched the top of the trees which circled the fields. Merlin trudged back to the village with the tired women, his back sore in a way he had barely remembered a back could ache and his tunic plastered to his shoulder blades by sweat despite the cool temperature. He felt a sense of accomplishment that had eluded him since he left Camelot. Perhaps it would be possible to make a life in Ealdor, be a farmer, marry, and give his mother grandchildren. As quickly as the thought formed, he knew that after all he had seen and done and learned, he would not be happy there for long. It was a good life but it was not what he was born for.

The hand cart loaded with grain he was pushing rattled and creaked as it rolled easily on the hard-packed dirt road. His pride in being useful and needed outweighed a twinge of discomfort with the way several of the women eyed him, the only man between the ages of seven and seventy within leagues.

Merlin gratefully accepted their offer to share the evening meal, careful to be equally gracious to each one who spoke to him and to ensure he did not smile at one more than another.

When they reached the village, he was shocked to find that Morgana had capably supervised preparation of the communal meal while helping Olwen tend her baby brother. Although he knew Morgana must have learned to take care of herself while she lived alone in that hut, including preparing meals, it came as a surprise to find she was proficient at cooking. So far in their journey together she had kept that skill to herself; not once had she lent a hand with anything more than collecting firewood when they camped. The stew was tasty, too, and, from the expressions of the villagers, more palatable than usual.

A young blonde woman smiled at Merlin as she sat down with her helping of supper on the bench with him. Morgana pursed her lips, then took her own food and sat between them. Warmth crept into his cheeks at the simpering look she gave him when he shifted over to give her room.

By the time they finished supper, it was nearly dark. Merlin tugged his jacket tighter, his sweat-soaked tunic uncomfortably cold in the evening breeze.

Athelis was a stout woman with a thick belly that bespoke her generous contribution to the village population and hair that was long and grey, twisted into a thick braid much lighter in colour than her black brows. It seemed she had taken the role of village elder. “Thank you for your help today, Emrys.”

He had decided to use a less conspicuous name than the one being repeated throughout the kingdom in tales that grew taller by the day. Morgana had called herself Morgaine, sending him a withering glance to forestall the ‘Morgan le Fay’ name he had given Sefa.

“I was glad to help,” Merlin said.

“How long do you plan to stay here?” the blonde asked him with a wistful expression. She winced when her nearest companion elbowed her in the ribs.

“Where are you bound?” Athelis asked with a quelling look at both young women.

Merlin exchanged a glance with Morgana. It would not do to mention Helva, so he gave the name of a town near the border with Odin’s kingdom.

“Tough journey this time of year,” an old man said.

The young blonde and several other women nodded vigorously.

Athelis frowned darkly. “Things have been unsettled around here since that witch brought her barbarians in. Since then it’s been a parade of bandits, mercenaries, and magic-users. It’s not safe to travel these parts anymore.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw Morgana tense though she sensibly said nothing. She was once again holding the baby boy.

The child gave a querulous cry. His mother sighed tiredly as she levered herself to her feet to take the child and disappear into her little hut. Her three daughters and the elderly man with the bandaged arm followed and, as if on cue, most of the others rose to find their own beds.

“You’re both welcome to bed down beside my hearth this night,” Athelis offered.

“Thank you, we would be glad to accept your hospitality,” Morgana said.

With a start, Merlin realized the natural assumption he and Morgana were a couple meant an expectation for them to share a bed. While they had grown used to sleeping side by side, it was always with the dragon between them. He thought of making some excuse for separate sleeping quarters, but he hesitated to invite speculation from the other women, plus he did not want Morgana to be alone if she woke up screaming in the night calling for Aithusa.

Tamping down his nervousness, Merlin helped Morgana gather up their small collection of belongings and followed her into Athelis’s hut. He wondered where the elder’s family had moved for the evening to give her visitors a spot next to the cookfire. Perhaps, with the men and boys gone, there was extra room in every hut.

By the time Merlin relieved himself and returned to the tiny hut to sleep, he found his bedroll laid out beside Morgana’s on the dirt floor across the hearth from their hostess. One thin candle had been left burning so he could find his way to bed in the unfamiliar room. Snores came from where Athelis was wrapped in her blankets. Doubtless she was used to falling asleep quickly to make the most of the few hours of rest she could claim, happy for the lengthening nights.

Morgana was stretched out beneath her brown cloak, but her eyes were on him as he awkwardly shrugged out of his jacket. She pulled her cloak aside and he lay down on his back beside her, flinching nervously when her arm brushed against him as she tossed the cloak over them both. Without the presence of the little dragon, Morgana did not hesitate to throw an arm across his chest and snuggle into his left side as if she had not relentlessly sought his painful demise just a short time ago. Apparently her hatred of him and fear of Emrys was not as deep as it had seemed, or else her fear of being alone with her nightmares was deeper. Or she had determined that her best defense was to play on his sympathy and guilt which, he admitted wryly, was likely to work.

She did not deserve his tenderness. The wrongs he had done her had been the only possible response to the choices she had made, and, if not, surely she had exacted any punishment he deserved by her actions toward him. He did not owe her compassion. But they understood each other and they shared a bond of magic which eased the pain of rejection clamped on his heart.

Besides, Morgana had never been hard to look at. Even in ragged clothes with her hair in tangles and smelling more like Gaius’s workshop than rosewater, she drew his eyes and stirred his blood. Warm softness pressed against his left arm, rising and falling slowly and evenly as she dropped off which was not helping him to sleep at all. He attempted to shift away, but she made a small sound and her left hand clutched a handful of his tunic. With a sigh, he resigned himself to a long and restless night.

Merlin roused when cool air touched his back. Bird calls announced morning. He shivered, slowly realizing the coolness was the removal of warmth that had been pressed against him. He stiffened when a black lace-covered arm trailed deliberately across his chest as Morgana sat up looking well rested. He felt as if he had barely nodded off moments ago, his eyes heavy-lidded and blinking in the smoke from the hearth fire. At least he had not been awakened by one of her nightmares after he finally fell asleep. Athelis’s blankets had already been neatly rolled up and put away even though the square of weak sunlight directly across from a single window indicated the early hour.

A loud scream came from outside the hut. Merlin bolted to his feet and raced outside. Not everyone had risen as early as the elder; several women and children were running into the dusty area in the centre of the huddled group of dwellings at the same time as Merlin.

A blonde woman – likely the one who had screamed – stood frozen in the grip of a man holding a knife to her throat. Behind them, Merlin saw a dozen men and boys brandishing an assortment of weapons. He cringed inwardly; clearly it was not Arthur’s presence that attracted trouble from bandits; it was, after all, himself.

A man wearing an overlarge hauberk under a vest of boiled-leather and a half-helm that sat too high on his wide forehead swaggered ahead of the other bandits. His smile was anything but friendly, his remaining teeth yellow and crooked. He grasped a broken-tipped sword loosely in his right hand.

“Now, we’re just poor travelers looking for a bit of hospitality,” he said loudly. “I’m sure you have food to share with us needy folks, and maybe a few coins for the poor.” He raised the sword and pointed the broken tip at Athelis, who stood in the centre of the trampled ground between the huts with her arms crossed. “You there, tell these others to gather up everything you can spare.”

“There is nothing to spare. We were raided by barbarians this spring. They killed our menfolk, took our boys.”

“That is a sad tale.” The man lowered the sword and looked around at his companions. “Isn’t that a sad tale?”

The man whose knife was pressed against the blonde woman’s throat grinned and a couple of the men nodded. Most made no response, their gazes darting around the village, weapons half drawn.

“But that was months ago,” the leader continued. “You must have laid in a nice store of foodstuffs for the winter. And surely a few coins remain to help us poor souls.”

Athelis pursed her lips. “We have only what we women could scrounge to see us and the children through the dark months. There is none to spare.”

The leader’s gap-toothed smile widened. “Then you would appreciate it if we thinned out your numbers somewhat, to help you through the cold months.”

He nodded toward the man with the knife whose prisoner whimpered.

“Mother!”

A little boy raced toward the captive woman but the bandit leader reached out and knocked the child sprawling. The boy huddled on the ground, blood seeping from his nose.

A cry escaped from the blonde woman and she struggled until the knife pressed closer to her throat.

Merlin gritted his teeth, his right arm rising slightly while he scanned the bandit ranks to note their numbers and the position of each one.

Athelis’s face had grown paler. Her gaze darted around the circle of men, aware this would end badly for her and her fellow villagers.

Olwen stood at the door of her mother’s hut holding her baby brother, her eyes wide. Her arms clenched and the infant protested with a loud wail.

“Shut the brat up,” the bandit snapped.

The girl shrank back, her arms clenching tighter, and the baby cried louder.

The bandit’s meaty arm raised as he took a step in Olwen’s direction.

“Leave her alone,” Morgana said.

She strode forward which drew the man’s eyes to her, his brows rising as he looked her up and down. His mouth opened but before he could say a word Morgana’s hand was outstretched and the big man was tossed backwards, his armour rattling as he landed heavily on his back, eyes open and staring upward.

The man who had been holding the village woman shoved her roughly aside and launched himself at Morgana, knife in hand. Her hands came up and the man stumbled back as if he had run into a solid wall. His eyes narrowed and he expertly tossed his knife toward her.

“ _Culter, ic þe hate_!”

At Merlin’s outstretched palm the knife froze, spun in midair, and then raced back toward its owner to burrow into his throat. He choked and dropped to the ground, hands scrabbling at the blade until they fell limp.

The rest of the bandits backed away, eyes darting between Merlin and Morgana. The one directly in her line of sight froze when he caught her attention, his face whitening beneath a thick ginger beard as a cold smile spread across her face. He dropped to his knees, hands upraised and head shaking. Morgana only smiled wider and raised one arm.

“No,” Merlin said.

Morgana’s gaze snapped sideways, her smile vanished. “What?”

“Let him go.” Merlin put a hand on her arm.

The man used her moment of distraction to leap to his feet and run, chasing after his fellows who had taken to their heels and were nearly out of sight. Morgana frowned and snatched her arm from Merlin’s grip but made no effort to cast an enchantment after the fleeing bandits.

Merlin allowed his own heightened magic to subside and looked around. The villagers stared at them, mouths open and eyes wide, more fearful than when the bandits had arrived. He clenched his jaw, ignored their stares, and started towards the boy who sat on the ground, blood still trailing from his nose.

The blonde woman threw herself between the boy and Merlin, arms spread wide. “No!”

He stopped, hand clenched tightly at his side. “I only want to help him.”

“You’re a sorcerer,” the woman gasped.

“Please. He’s hurt, you may be hurt, too.” Merlin took a step closer but the woman shrieked and scrambled backward to throw her arms around her son.

Merlin looked toward Athelis where she stood in the middle of the circle of villagers. “I can help them.”

The grey-haired woman crossed her arms and straightened her shoulders. “You will leave now.”

Helplessly, Merlin looked from one to another of the villagers: women, old men, and children. Not one of the people who had welcomed his assistance and warmly shared their food the previous day met his eyes. Olwen’s mother put her arm protectively around her daughter and baby son.

With a deep sigh, Merlin moved to enter Athelis’s hut to gather their belongings.

“No! Stay away.”

Merlin wondered if she really believed he was about to curse her dwelling or some such absurd thing. Perhaps she was only being spiteful because they had fooled her, but there was panic in the woman’s eyes – more fear than when she had faced bandits who intended to sack her village.

Morgana glared and the older woman took a frightened step back.

Merlin stepped between them and faced Athelis. “We were only going to gather our things, nothing more.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Bronn, fetch their belongings.” Athelis motioned with her chin at a small, yellow-haired boy.

The child’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head wildly as he ducked behind the skirts of a pale-faced woman. Athelis looked at her but she shrank back, shaking her head emphatically.

With a frown, Athelis straightened her spine and marched toward her hut, sidling around Merlin and Morgana. She came out with their packs, their blankets hastily rolled up with Morgana’s cloak, and tossed the lot at their feet. “Now leave.”

Morgana gave them all a haughty glance and spun on her heel to stalk away.

Merlin gathered everything up and followed more slowly, stopping once to lift his hand in farewell. No one waved back.

They were barely out of sight of the village when he heard a familiar croak high above and a white blur plummeted to the ground in front of them. Aithusa spread her wings and stood on her hind legs to croak loudly.

Morgana dropped to her knees and spread her arms and again the little dragon dropped its head to her shoulder.

“Aithusa,” she said, so softly Merlin barely heard the catch in her voice.

He gently rested one hand on her shoulder and she shot him a surprised glance.

Then her eyes narrowed. “Things are so much better in Camelot now that Arthur is king.”

Merlin’s mouth tightened and he withdrew his hand. “Let’s go.”

He strode away. Morgana’s footfalls followed him and Aithusa returned to the air above them.

He concentrated on the way the dirt and dust of the cleared area gave way to stiff, yellow grass and then to moss beneath a shroud of yellow leaves as bare trees closed around him. Fog narrowed his field of vision as he focused on scanning the ground for useful plants and herbs. It was only after an hour of walking that he noticed the sound of footsteps other than his own and Morgana’s.

Without being obvious, he lifted his head slightly and listened more carefully. He could hear the flap of Aithusa’s wings close above them, barely higher than the treetops and directly overhead. He could also hear small animals scrabble through the leaf-covered ground and a snake that startled at their passage dart away without being seen. Louder than all were human footsteps pacing them, noisier and heavier than most animals, and he realized whoever it was had been following them for at least a half hour.

When Merlin stopped walking suddenly, Morgana nearly ran into him.

“What are you –”

He held up a hand to cut her off. The footsteps had stopped when he stopped.

He turned in a slow circle, eyes attempting to pierce the fog. Without their leaves, the trees provided little cover though many of the trunks were wide enough to conceal a person.

“Hello?” Merlin waited for a response.

For several heartbeats the forest was quieter than usual, then a hazy outline stepped from behind a tree and approached, becoming more visible as the figure got closer. There was a glint of metal where the sun, already above the tree tops, caught the man’s forearms. He was armed and wearing a breastplate of boiled leather but he moved cautiously, eyes fixed on both of them. His hair was black and curly and his thick beard was auburn.

Merlin recognized the bandit at the same time as Morgana gave a shout. The man flinched, throwing up an arm.

“Wait.” Merlin grasped her wrist. “At least find out what he wants.”

“What bandits usually want,” Morgana muttered as she yanked her hand away though she eyed the man narrowly.

He lowered his arm from his face, watching them carefully before he finally straightened his shoulders and spoke. “You have magic.”

Merlin raised a brow. “Yes.”

“I just … I mean … I hoped …” His eyes darted between them, then he let out a deep breath and gestured at someone behind him.

Whatever – or whoever – he had expected, Merlin had not anticipated the sight of two children, a boy and a girl, half the bandit’s height, both with hair as black and curly as the man’s. They came forward until they stood next to their father. The boy took his hand but the girl, who was a head taller than her brother, crossed her arms and scrutinized the two sorcerers.

“You cannot trust them just because they have magic, Father.”

Her statement sounded backwards but before Merlin could puzzle out the girl’s meaning, Morgana had taken a step forward, her intense green gaze returning the girl’s appraising stare.

“When did you discover your powers?” Morgana asked.

Uncertainty clouded the girl’s eyes and her gaze faltered. Her head twisted toward her father before she lifted her chin. “In my thirteenth winter.”

Merlin thought she could not be much older than that now. “Why were you with a group of bandits? That cannot be safe.”

“Safe!” The girl’s father stiffened, his face suffusing with colour under the red beard. “You’ve seen how safe it is for her among those fine, caring people in the village. How they turned against you the moment they knew. Do you think it was any different in our own home among people who had known Ysmay since her birth? Who helped raise her?”

“Papa,” Ysmay said pleadingly.

The red-bearded bandit looked down at his daughter. “It wasn’t your fault, it was their prejudice, their fear.”

So this family had been forced to flee their home when it was discovered the girl had magic. More proof Merlin had failed in his destiny. Morgana was right to taunt him.

He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “What do you want from us?”

“Take her with you, wherever you’re going, protect her, teach her.” The bandit’s rough face looked oddly vulnerable, one meaty hand clenching and unclenching and the other gripping the little boy tighter, which made the metal vambraces on his forearms flex.

Ysmay rounded on him. “I’m not leaving you, Father.” She gazed narrowly at Merlin over her shoulder. “Our family goes or stays together.”

The bandit’s heavy hands landed on her shoulders. “It isn’t fit for you to stay in the camp longer. I won’t be able to protect you all the time and your brother is too young.” His voice lowered. “Besides, I know you want to be with your own kind.”

The girl’s lip trembled.

“You can all come with us,” Merlin said.

Both the man and his daughter looked at Merlin. He expected Morgana to object but she made no protest as she continued to contemplate the girl.

“We’re traveling to Helva,” he added.

“Odin’s kingdom.” The bandit hesitated, glancing over his shoulder, then at each of his children.

The boy clenched his father’s hand more tightly but the girl’s eyes grew brighter.

“Helva,” she breathed. “The place where anyone can practice magic openly?”

“Yes,” Morgana answered.

Ysmay turned to her father. “I want to see the city, but I won’t go without you. We must stay together.”

“All right.” He squeezed her shoulder. “We go together, then.”


	7. The Dark Day

They used the remainder of the day to put more distance between themselves and the village, not that Merlin expected the villagers to trouble them further as long as they did not return. Likewise, there was no reason to think the bandits had any reason – or the inclination – to pursue them.

While they walked, Bruin told his family’s story. His wife’s magic had been discovered by their neighbours and he had fled with the two children after soldiers took their mother. Then he and his family had been forced to abandon their new home when Ysmay’s powers came to light and they had wandered from place to place until he got caught stealing food. Ysmay helped him escape and shortly after they joined the group of bandits. The outlaws accepted them without question as long as Bruin could hold his own in a fight.

Merlin pretended to ignore every condescending glare Morgana sent him each time the tale involved the intolerance of Camelot’s citizens toward magic. It was partially her fault Arthur remained convinced of the evils of magic.

Their pace was slow. The boy, whose name was Uwain, was forced to take two steps to every one of his father’s and Ysmay slowed whenever her gaze wandered to the sky.

When the dragon first dipped low enough in her flight that the mist could not mask her alien form, Uwain gasped in shock and Bruin drew his sword. Ysmay’s jaw had dropped as she stared upward, fascinated by the magical creature. When Merlin and Morgana assured their new companions the white dragon was a friend, Ysmay’s rapt gaze fastened on them before returning to the creature overhead. As if sensing the attention, Aithusa’s flight path was especially acrobatic.

Far from resenting their new companions the way Morgana had begrudged Sefa’s company, she was more open than Merlin remembered seeing her since she had strolled through the market talking and laughing with Gwen a lifetime ago. Ysmay questioned the sorceress relentlessly, eager for knowledge, and Morgana answered every query. At first, they spoke of the dragon and then of magic generally. Once or twice they stopped walking to practice a spell.

When they made camp, Bruin hunted rabbits and squirrel to fatten their evening meal. The children collected mushrooms, gorse, cowberry, and chickweed. Ysmay also found a few bright yellow blooms she shyly offered to Morgana.

Merlin was pleased to share his workload, more so when Morgana took over the cooking. Rather than being solely responsible to provide food as well as all the other duties he routinely handled, the only tasks left for him were to fetch water for drinking, cooking, and washing and build a fire.

Bruin and Uwain walked warily around the dragon. Aithusa took no notice of them, but seemed as curious about Ysmay as she was about the magical creature. After the fire was lit, Merlin crouched next to Aithusa and laid one hand on her head. Then he beckoned to Ysmay. Her eyes lit but her steps were hesitant. When she was within an arm’s length, the dragon cocked her head and gave a chirrup.

“Ysmay, this is Aithusa. Aithusa, this is Ysmay.”

Timidly, Ysmay stretched out her hand in greeting.

Aithusa touched her nose to the girl’s hand, nodded once, and chirruped again.

“She can’t talk yet,” Merlin said. “But I think that means she’s pleased to meet you.”

Ysmay smiled. “Pleased to meet you, too.”

After their meal, Uwain’s eyes grew heavy as he sat leaning against his father’s muscular frame.

Ysmay chattered with Morgana where they sat side by side with Aithusa curled up between them, the yellow flowers clasped tightly in Morgana’s hand. They gathered a few dried stalks of honeysuckle and Morgana showed Ysmay a spell to bring the flower out of its winter sleep. The bloom did not last long but its sweet scent made the camp smell like summer.

Merlin watched the two women absently, one hand resting on the dragon’s warm scales, his mind pleasantly blank. He started when Ysmay spoke to him.

“Emrys, would you like to try?”

Merlin and Morgana had continued to use the aliases they had given the villagers.

“Yes, would you?” Morgana tilted her head and gave him a small smile. “Or perhaps you could show us something new?”

For a moment he stared into her eyes, then he looked down at the spiky pink blossom in Ysmay’s hand. He cupped his palms and brought them up to his mouth. “ _Gewyrc an lif_.” He opened his hands to let the tickling sensation free.

The blue butterfly flew to the flower Ysmay held and perched there, wings quivering slightly. The girl stared at the insect, her mouth shaped in an “O.” Uwain’s eyes snapped open and he uttered a small exclamation.

Merlin smiled at their reactions before his gaze met Morgana’s. She was staring at him, her eyes tracking back and forth between him and the butterfly.

He looked away, seeing how dark the forest around them had become. “We should get some sleep.”

“But –” Ysmay began.

“Emrys is right,” Bruin said firmly, cutting off any further protests with a stern look at his daughter. “Morgaine has been patient with you but now it’s time for bed.”

He and his son left to relieve themselves while Ysmay dug a wooden comb from her pack. She tugged it through her curls which the wind had tied in knots, wincing at every stroke.

“Here.” Morgana sat next to Ysmay and held out her hand.

The girl glanced uncertainly at Morgana’s tangled hair but handed over the comb. Her nervousness faded quickly into a contented look as Morgana began at the ends and carefully worked the carved bit of wood through Ysmay’s curly dark hair.

Bruin stopped short at the sight when he returned. He blinked once before busying himself laying out blankets for himself and the children.

“All done.” Morgana handed Ysmay back the comb.

The girl took it and then looked up shyly. “I could do yours if you like.”

Morgana touched her tangled hair self-consciously. Repeated washings had gotten it clean but finger-combing had done little to work out the snarls. “All right.”

She sat on the ground and Ysmay knelt behind her to work the comb slowly and deliberately through the long, dark waves. For a moment it was so reminiscent of the Morgana Merlin had first known in Camelot with Gwen brushing her hair that he caught his breath.

When Ysmay was done, Morgana thanked her and the girl blushed as she tucked her comb away. She made her own trip into the woods and then huddled together with her father and brother under their blankets. Both males fell asleep quickly. Ysmay’s eyes dropped shut not long after, one hand clasped around the dried stalk of honeysuckle with its faded blooms.

From his sleeping roll, Merlin watched as Morgana divided her newly-brushed hair into three parts and quickly wove them into a loose plait. When she was done, she lay down with the white dragon between them. The last thing Merlin saw before he closed his eyes was the smooth, dark braid wrapped over Morgana’s shoulder.

~

They packed their belongings shortly after first light and resumed their journey westward. Following the pattern established the previous day, Merlin led while Morgana and Ysmay walked side-by-side behind him and Bruin with Uwain came last.

It was the coldest day yet; leaves crunched beneath their feet and fallen twigs snapped with a brittle crack when stepped on. The exposed branches of barren trees and stripped stalks of shorter plants were lined with white frost and mist coated the ground. Sounds of Aithusa’s beating wings above, small four-legged creatures on the forest floor, and birdcalls from far away were loud in the damp air.

Bruin snagged a few more small game along the way and slung them over his shoulder.

They stopped mid-morning to break their fast and then continued. The fog slowly burned away as the sun passed above them but its bright rays carried little warmth and Merlin tugged his jacket tighter. He glanced upward. For the first time since they had left the village, Aithusa was not in sight. Probably the little dragon had gone hunting. Merlin puffed out a breath to see if it was visible.

“What is it?” Morgana regarded him narrowly, one hand clenched on the folds of her cloak to wrap it more tightly around her.

He realized he had stopped walking. The air was cold, but not cold enough to explain the way his breath momentarily backed up in his lungs as if an icy hand had squeezed his chest.

Bruin laid a hand on the hilt of his weapon and gazed around warily. Ysmay stared into the woods with her brow furrowed. Merlin followed the direction of her gaze and a shiver crept up his spine, though not as strongly this time.

“Cold,” Ysmay said.

“Yes it is,” her brother agreed. Uwain looked up at his father. “Can we stop soon and find someplace warm?”

Bruin relaxed his tense posture. “Perhaps.”

The icy chill vanished, though the air was still frosty.

“I thought I saw a wisp of smoke over there.” Bruin pointed in the direction Ysmay was staring.

Merlin closed his eyes, then opened them and they flashed gold as he checked the path in that direction. Not far away was a shack, its walls in good repair although dead weeds were thick in front of the door as well as around the rest of the tiny clearing. “There’s a dwelling over there.”

For no reason he could name, Merlin was reluctant to head for the shack but Bruin started in the direction Merlin had indicated. With a shrug, he followed, Morgana and Ysmay trailing even more slowly.

The shack was indeed in good repair, though no smoke rose from the chimney. The woodpile was only a few thick logs half buried in dirt and clumps of brown leaves.

“Looks like it would be warm enough,” Bruin said. “Doesn’t seem like anyone else is using it.”

“It would be nice to sleep under a roof.” Ysmay looked longingly at the shack, her unease from earlier apparently gone.

“I wonder if there’s water nearby.” Morgana craned her neck to see around the corner of the building. “They may have a well around back.”

At that moment, the door of the shack swung outward and they all stared in surprise at the young man who stared back suspiciously, one hand held in front of himself.

“I’m sorry.” Merlin smiled and spread his hands slightly. “We didn’t know this was your home.”

The young man appeared to relax somewhat though he did not smile in return. “It isn’t.”

He hesitated, then came out of the shack holding a torch though it was full daylight. That must have been the smoke Bruin had seen because the dwelling remained dark, its hearth unlit.

“We’ve been walking all day, we were looking for a place to eat and sleep,” Merlin said.

The men’s boots and the hem of the women’s skirts were damp and dirty, attesting to the truth of his statement. The young man relaxed further, though he gave Bruin’s leather armour and well-used blade a nervous glance.

“I’m Emrys, by the way.” Merlin held out a hand.

The young man stepped forward and clasped his hand in return. “Royce.”

“We’d be happy to lend a hand in whatever way you need in exchange for shelter. I’m a healer.” Merlin indicated his pouch.

A smile touched the younger man’s plain face at that. “As it happens, so is my grandmother so we don’t need your assistance for ourselves, but maybe you can help, anyway.” He closed the door of the shack behind him, snuffed out the torch in the damp earth, and led the way further into the woods. “It’s not far,” he said over his shoulder.

The dwelling they arrived at was in a cleared area the size of the citadel courtyard. The house had more than one room, the smaller having been added on to the older dwelling. A large stack of wood stood at one side to the height of the eaves, smoke came from a hole in the middle of the roof, and the gardens around it had been harvested.

A woman with long, brown hair was feeding a half dozen chickens in the yard. She put one hand on her back as she straightened up and used the other to shade her eyes to look in their direction. Her hair was the same dark brown as Royce’s, though straight where his was short and curly.

Royce went directly toward her. “How is she?” he asked quietly.

The woman shook her head.

He hid his disappointment as he turned to the new comers. “This is my mother, Lynette.”

She sent a questioning glance at her son, but greeted them politely.

“I’m Emrys,” Merlin said, stepping forward. “This is Morgaine, Ysmay, Uwain, and Bruin.”

Lynette nodded at them each in turn, her eyes lingering on Bruin who was staring back with a rapt expression. “Warn your grandmother we have company,” she said to Royce, her cheeks slightly pink.

Although they seemed to live comfortably enough, they probably had little food to share. “We don’t want to impose,” Merlin said. “We can help –”

Before he could finish his sentence Bruin unslung his trophies from his shoulder. “I can provide meat for our meal. And perhaps there’s other work that needs doing, repairs to make?” He looked toward the house.

Lynette shook her head, smiling as she did so.

“I could stockpile wood for winter,” he offered.

Merlin’s brows rose as he looked from the tall stack of wood to the former bandit and back again.

“Emrys!” Royce called from the door of the house.

He beckoned Merlin, who moved to the doorway and took in the interior of the house. This was the room that had been added to the original shack, its wooden walls not quite as chipped. All manner of plants hung from the rafters and it smelled like a physician’s workroom: a mixture of herbs, strong soap, and sweat-soaked blankets so that no one scent could be distinguished. In fact, it looked much like Gaius’s workroom. Every surface was piled with plants and containers and utensils, including both tables, and there was a bed in one corner, except here the tables were planks spread across upturned barrels and the bed was merely blankets spread on the dirt floor.

A small figure was wrapped up on the makeshift bed and an old woman crouched beside, face curtained by wisps of white hair which had escaped her long braid.

The elderly woman looked up at Merlin’s entrance. “I’m Valdis. My grandson tells me you are a healer. I doubt you can do more than I for this child, but if there is even a chance you can help, please do.”

Merlin came closer, expecting to see the patient in the throes of a fever but what he saw was more frightening: a small face with nearly translucent skin traced by blue lines. The forehead was cold rather than hot, though the child was not shivering. Merlin pulled one small, skinny hand from under the blankets; it, too, was icy to the touch and traced by blue lines.

He glanced up at the elderly healer. “What sickness is this?”

“We don’t know. She’s the third person to fall ill this year with the same symptoms.”

“A year?” Sickness traveled from one victim to another much more quickly. His gaze met the woman’s knowing eyes. “Magic.”

Valdis nodded. “I’ve been unable to help any of them. I’ve tried everything.” She looked up at her grandson, then back at the child wrapped in blankets.

Merlin looked at her sharply. “Everything?”

“Royce tells me you’re a healer. If there’s anything you might be able to do for the child, please try.”

He watched the slight rise and fall of the child’s chest, shallow and regular, while her eyes remained open and staring blankly. “Have you tried a poultice of betulial, or belladonna to stimulate the heart?”

“Yes.” The woman lifted one bony, wrinkled hand to lay it on his sleeve. “If you have any other healing knowledge, this would be the time to use it.”

For a long moment, Merlin stared into the old woman’s grey eyes. Then he sighed and laid his cupped hands over the child’s chest. “ _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare_.”

His eyes glowed golden but there was no change in the patient. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the old healer bow her head sadly. Warily, he looked from the old woman to Royce, who remained standing just inside the room. Neither appeared the least disturbed to see him use magic.

Merlin’s hands clenched more tightly. “ _Ic the thurhaele thinu licsar mid thamsundorcraeft thaere ealdan ae_.” He said the spell correctly, but he could not feel the usual warm surge of magic.

The child’s breathing remained shallow, the eyes unblinking.

Morgana nudged him aside and knelt next to the blankets. Her gaze fastened on the pallid face of the child and she stretched out a hand from the folds of her brown cloak to lay one palm on the child’s forehead. “ _Seópan ærest wearð feasceaft funden. Denum æfter dom. Dreamleas gebad he gewann langsum_.”

Her eyes flashed but her spell had no effect.

Morgana frowned. “ _Seópan ærest wearð feasceaft funden. Denum æfter dom. Dreamleas gebad he gewann langsum_.”

“It’s as I feared.” The old woman passed a hand across her face. “Magic doesn’t work in the presence of this pestilence, whatever it is.”

“Yes, just like –” Royce broke off his sentence and bit his lip.

Merlin looked down at the patient. The child’s eyes were still staring upward but the blankets covering her chest no longer rose and fell.

Morgana ignored them. “ _Butan þæt cwalu. Hrðe þon aidlian. Hrðe þon eðian. Bot ond tile_.”

Merlin put his hand on her shoulder. “You tried.”

She shook off his hand. “My healing spells always work.”

“Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.” Living with a physician had taught him that truth.

“But –”

“The boy is right.” The elderly healer took Morgana’s hand in her wrinkled hand one. “This could not be cured by medicine or magic, it was beyond anyone’s ability to heal.” She met her grandson’s eyes and they exchanged a look of deep sadness touched with unease.

The old woman drew one thin blanket up across the child’s face.

“You should lie down, you look tired,” Royce said.

“I am.” Valdis looked toward Merlin and Morgana. “Thank you both for your help and for your trust, I know it’s no small thing to share your secret.”

Arthur’s face flashed before Merlin’s eyes. He set aside that complicated mesh of emotions and regarded the healer closely. “You already tried to cure that girl with magic, didn’t you?”

“The attempt was unsuccessful, as it was with the other two who died of the same symptoms.” Her gaze was fixed on the small form beneath the blanket. “I imagine you need a meal and a place to rest for the night. You’re welcome to –”

There was a scream of anguish from the doorway and Merlin saw a woman standing on the threshold. Her hand went to her throat and the blood drained from her face; then she rushed forward and shoved aside those who were crouched by the bedside. She clasped the small form to her chest still wrapped in its blanket. Her shoulders shook and her sobs filled the room.

Merlin and Morgana moved back to stand next to Royce.

Valdis braced her elderly frame against the wall as she got slowly to her feet, looking down at the mother holding her dead child and rocking slightly. After several minutes she laid one wrinkled hand on the woman’s head. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” The woman’s head snapped up, her face wet. “This curse is your fault.”

Valdis exchanged a look with her grandson before her gaze returned to the mother’s tear-soaked face. “We did everything we could to heal her,” she said softly, carefully.

“This plague is a judgement on us for tolerating your sorcery, for allowing you to live.”

Morgana’s face darkened and Merlin sent her a warning look.

The mother struggled to her feet while holding the child’s body, one corner of the blanket trailing to the dirt floor. “This is the last sickness and suffering your sorcery will bring to this village.”

She stormed out of the small room, the sound of renewed sobbing trailing in her wake.

“How dare she,” Morgana began.

“She’s grieving,” Merlin said.

The witch spun to face him, her forehead creased and her green eyes wild.

He stood his ground and she thought twice about whatever she had been about to do.

“She’s in pain.” The old woman’s voice was not raised yet they both subsided and looked toward her. Her lined face was sad. “Give the girl’s mother time to come to terms with her grief and she will see the foolishness of her words. My grandson and my daughter will take care of you.” Her white brows drew together. “Unless you feel unsafe here. We understand if you wish to leave.”

“We would be happy to eat with you,” Merlin said. “And we can help with the meal.”

She nodded. “You have a good heart.” She made her way slowly through the doorway that led to the inner room.

When the healer had gone, Merlin turned to Royce. “Three people have died in the past year? With the same symptoms?”

“Yes.”

“Have the villagers blamed your grandmother before?”

Morgana muttered under her breath but he paid no attention.

Royce shrugged. “There is always talk off and on, but after the second victim died and it seemed magic was involved, of course the rumours started again. It’s mostly led by that white-haired old fool who calls himself the village chief.” His mouth hardened into a tight line. “But it’s always gone away in time. The people here need my grandmother; she’s the only healer for many leagues.”

If only they could have saved that little girl. Merlin’s healing spells were not always effective, but this failure felt different; as if something had blocked his magic. His spells tried to work but the plague snuffed them out. An empty feeling, a powerlessness, had hovered around the girl, making it difficult to breathe. A voice drew him out of his reverie.

“Have you seen this before?”

Royce was staring at him. “Yes, something similar, but it can’t possibly be the same.”

“Are you certain?” The young man’s eyes were bright. “If we can figure out the source then we can show everyone my grandmother has nothing to do with this plague.”

Merlin shook his head. “It can’t be the same as what I’ve seen before.”

Royce looked at him pleadingly.

He sighed. “At Samhain last year, the spirits of the dead were released when the Veil between the worlds was torn.” Merlin sent Morgana a scathing look.

Royce paled at mention of the Dorocha.

“If a wisp passed through a victim, he died instantly, frozen. But if one of the Dorocha brushed against someone, he died more slowly; pale and cold with a tracing of blue lines beneath the skin. But when the tear in the Veil was healed the Dorocha were sealed on the other side once again.”

He could not stop the image of Lancelot from flashing before his eyes, that last look over the knight’s shoulder as he walked into the tear, into the mouth of hell. The pain of his friend’s death had dulled, especially with their final goodbye, but it smouldered just the same.

Merlin’s hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. “Were there victims here?”

Royce nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “We were luckier than some, but one family was entirely wiped out. Their home remains empty to this day. If any of them died slowly, we were unaware. The ones I know of who encountered those creatures from hell died instantly.”

The reason for the young man’s presence at that empty shack, carrying a torch in daylight, was suddenly clear.

“You felt the cold there, didn’t you?” Merlin asked.

“Yes.”

“It isn’t only your grandmother who has magic.”

Royce’s mouth twisted. “My grandmother doesn’t have magic. She’s a healer, not a witch.”

“It was you who tried to heal the girl using sorcery?”

“I help when I can, when my grandmother’s methods fail.” He sighed. “But even I couldn’t help the child you saw, or either of the victims before her. All I could sense was something that blocked my magic, something that felt cold, and I remembered feeling that same sensation at the abandoned hut.”

“That must be the source of the plague.” Merlin’s excitement faded as Royce shook his head.

“I didn’t find anything. Even the feeling of cold came and went and because of that I can’t show the other villagers that my grandmother isn’t responsible for this illness. They all know sorcery is involved, so naturally they blame her.”

“Why not tell them she’s not a sorceress?”

“Because then they’ll know someone else has been making the charms my grandmother sells along with her remedies and they’ll guess it’s either my mother or me.”

The expression on the young man’s face was so ridden with guilt that Merlin felt his heart clench. “Valdis is protecting you.”

“And I’m letting her protect me the way she protected my father before he died. It’s not safe to admit to having magic.”

Shame uncurled in Merlin’s gut and he could feel Morgana’s accusing glare now burning into his back. Not that her reign had done anything to make these people safer.

Royce rubbed his temples. “The best way to protect my grandmother, and all of us, is to find the real cause of these deaths.” He looked at Merlin anxiously. “The cold I felt – at the hut and when I tried to heal those people – it was like my magic was cut off by an emptiness, a powerlessness that stole my breath. That’s what I felt the time the Dorocha got close to here.”

“But the Dorocha are gone now,” Merlin said. “I saw the tear close.”

Royce’s expression was awed. “They say the bravest of the king’s knights saved us. He vanquished the evil sorceress who tore the Veil between the worlds and she killed him for it.”

A wry smile twisted Merlin’s face. “That isn’t exactly what happened, but it’s true the Veil was sealed. The Dorocha are gone from this world.”

“Could one be trapped on this side of the Veil?”

Merlin looked at the young man in horror. “I don’t know.”

Morgana gave a sharp indrawn breath. “It’s possible. If it was stuck at the moment the tear between the worlds was sealed, it would now be trapped. It will remain anchored to that spot, unable to return to the Other World.”

“Then we open the Veil again,” Royce said excitedly, “let it through, and heal the tear.”

“No!” Merlin flushed when Royce looked at him, startled by his tone. “It requires a blood sacrifice to tear the Veil, even at its thinnest, and another to close it.”

Royce’s face fell. “Then we need to find a cure, a way to help those who are touched by the Dorocha and heal them.”

Merlin shook his head. “There’s only one who survived and that remedy won’t work again.” He paid no attention to Morgana’s sharp glance. “If we can find this wisp, we can prove it’s not connected with your family and make sure no one else gets near.”

Hope touched Royce’s expression. “Yes. If we all work together we can accomplish what I was trying to do earlier. It would be best to go while the sun is still up.” He spun on his heel and raced out of the hut.

Merlin followed, but the moment he stepped outside the hut Morgana grabbed his arm. Her grip was painful, even through layers of clothing, as she swung him around the corner of the dwelling out of sight of the others.

“What do you mean, there was one who survived the Dorocha?”

He yanked his arm from her grip, angry with her at the reminder of the events last year.

She paled and fell back a step. “No mortal has ever survived their touch, it’s not possible.”

The fear in her expression quashed his fury. He heaved a sigh. “Never mind that.”

“But, if there _is_ a way to heal, why didn’t you use it now?” Morgana’s voice trembled but she held his gaze.

His mouth twisted. “I didn’t heal myself, I had help.” He reached up to massage the back of his neck. “But once balance was restored, good spirits as well as bad were no longer able to roam freely. The Vilia returned to the brooks and streams just as the Dorocha returned to the Other World.”

She stared at him, her lips parted and her breath coming in short gasps. “Even the Dorocha didn’t kill you? Why are you always in my way?”

“Why would you let loose an unstoppable curse like the spirits of the dead? How could you sacrifice your own sister?”

A strangled gasp escaped Morgana but he refused to feel sympathy for her sacrifice. She had done so willingly and it had cost Lancelot his life, along with so many others.

Morgana’s hand shook. “I didn’t want to do that! She begged me, she told me it would bring our enemies to their knees.”

“It brought the kingdom to its knees, the kingdom and everyone in it! Do you care even a little for all those who died?”

Her mouth tightened. “All those who supported Uther, who support Arthur. All those who are so quick to believe that a mysterious death must be the work of an evil sorceress.”

Merlin stepped closer to her, satisfied by her cringe. “These deaths _are_ the work of an evil sorceress.”

“At least I’m willing to take action, to take a risk to force change rather than hide in the shadows.”

He knew well the risks she was willing to take, risk to herself and everyone else. She was reckless and she did not care who might be harmed in her self-appointed quest to take the crown. More than once she had unleashed the dead without a thought for the price to be paid, even when the price was her own sister. At least with the skeleton army and Cenred’s undead soldiers, Morgause had retained control, but the Dorocha – even Morgana had been vulnerable.

He grasped her arm. “How is it the Dorocha never attacked you in that hovel?”

She tugged against his grip but he refused to release her.

“How, Morgana?”

“Protection ward. As long as I stayed within the boundary after nightfall, I was safe.”

Excitement drowned out his previous anger at her. “Then we can use that spell to keep the villagers safe.”

“An entire village? It takes time to weave the spell, and more time the bigger the safe zone. Even if we drew wards around the village, the spell loses effectiveness the wider it’s cast and it’s not practical for everyone to shelter within it every night.”

Merlin frowned. “The wards are meant to keep the Dorocha from entering a place, right?”

Puzzled, Morgana nodded.

“Will they also confine a Dorocha to a space?”

Understanding lit her face. “Yes.”

“Then we’ll find this wisp and imprison it so it can’t harm these people further.”

She moved closer and stared him down. “Why protect people who are so willing to blame an old woman for their troubles?”

“Because magic is meant to help people.” He tightened his grip on her arm. “And this is your mess to fix.”

“Fine.” Morgana yanked her arm away and straightened her sleeve. “But only to keep Valdis safe from their ignorance and fear.”

They found Royce waiting impatiently, the other four having stopped their tasks to hear his story. His mother knelt on the ground with a knife and one of the rabbits Bruin had killed, her hands red and her skirt stained. Bruin leaned on a hoe, Uwain beside him with hands coated in dirt and a smudge on his forehead. Ysmay had apparently been cutting potatoes but she was now on her feet, her gaze jumping between Royce and her father.

Bruin’s wide forehead was wrinkled. “Emrys, what’s this about seeking some creature of magic?”

“We don’t know for certain what it is,” Merlin said. “But there’s a threat and we need to find it and stop it.”

“I can help, Father,” Ysmay said.

The ex-bandit frowned at his daughter. “It sounds dangerous.”

“Three have died already.” Lynette’s voice was quiet but the others turned to look at her where she crouched beside the half-skinned rabbit. “And more will die if this thing cannot be stopped.”

Bruin glanced down at her and his expression softened.

“We have a better chance if we work together to find it and trap it,” Royce said. “And each of us should have a torch.”

“Morgaine is not afraid and I’m not, either.” Ysmay stepped closer to Morgana and took her hand.

Morgana looked down, startled, before she gripped the girl’s hand tightly and faced them all. “I know a spell that will stop this, but we need to locate the wisp quickly, before the sun goes down. The wards have to be in place before dark.”

“All right, then.” Bruin set down his hoe. “Let’s go.”

“Stay here with Mother. You’ll not be able to help,” Royce said.

Bruin cut him off. “I can carry a torch as easily as any of you. My daughter isn’t going into danger without me.”

Lynette stood and reached toward her son, realized her hand was covered in rabbit blood, and lowered it again. “Be careful.” Her eyes flicked from Royce to Bruin.

“We will.” Royce bent to kiss his mother on her forehead.

He led the group, Bruin behind him, Morgana and Ysmay next, and Merlin last.

Before they reached the treed area beyond the yard, Uwain rushed up to his father carrying two long, thick branches from the woodpile. “I can carry a torch, too.”

Bruin seemed about to send the lad back, but then he gave the boy a nod and a pat on the back.

The six of them retraced their steps in the direction they had come a short time earlier. It was not long before Royce halted and Merlin felt a touch of cold as he recognized the group of tall pine trees that stood not far from the empty hut.

Royce whispered and the stick of wood he carried spouted flame. Uwain jumped when both of his did as well. He handed one of the burning brands to his father.

“I’ve been through the hut and I don’t think it’s inside, but I can’t be sure,” Royce said.

Merlin thought the icy sensation was coming from the yard behind the hut, but it was flickering and faint. He glanced at the sky; the sun was still above the tops of the pines to the west of them. “We should spread out. Whoever pinpoints the wisp, call the rest of us and we can help Morgana set up the wards that will seal it in.”

Morgana nodded, her eyes fixed on a spot ahead. Ysmay looked in the same direction and shivered.

Merlin had collected a lump of wood on their trek through the trees, the stub of a thick branch from a fallen tree, and lit it with a flash of his eyes. He walked to the left, then paused, reaching out with his magic. The tingle of cold moved, sometimes ahead of him and sometimes to his right.

Bruin accompanied his daughter and instructed his son to stay with Morgana. Royce headed toward the abandoned hut. She followed him slowly, stopping to look around every few steps. Ysmay and Bruin were on Merlin’s left but angling in his direction.

There was a well at the edge of the dooryard behind the hut, guarded by a low stone wall and topped by a small roof. Merlin moved closer, edging up to the circle of stones to peer down. As he leaned against the well, he flinched at the cold that seeped through his breeches where they touched the wall.

A sudden stir of air above his head made him pull back in alarm as something small and quick flew past his face. He ducked, torch held up, when two more tiny creatures with leathery wings soared over him and up into the trees. He took a deep breath after the bats disappeared overhead.

Without warning Bruin’s torch went out and Ysmay gave a short, sharp scream as she stumbled backward and fell heavily. Her brother waved his torch wildly over her and Merlin caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye heading toward him. An shriek stabbed his ears.

Morgana whirled at Ysmay’s shout, her gaze darting around wildly. She took two steps in Merlin’s direction but stopped when the shriek vanished along with the scrap of white mist. The children exchanged a relieved look and Uwain reached a hand to help his sister up.

Then the wailing shriek sounded in Merlin’s ear again and a tendril of white fog materialized in front of his face. He swung his firebrand and the wisp veered sideways before it blinked out.

Merlin spun around, frantically searching for the Dorocha, and stumbled against the well. He flinched as his bare hand brushed the cold stone, then he gasped. His eyes flashed gold and the wood that roofed the well burst into flame. The ear-splitting shriek sounded again but this time it echoed as the sound circled inside the steep shaft.

“Morgana! The Dorocha is in the well. You need to put the wards around it before that fire goes out.”

The edges of the thin roof receded as flames ate away at them.

Morgana collected a long bough and walked a slow circle around the low stone wall, carving a line into the leaf-covered, soggy ground. As she began the incantation, another piercing shriek echoed up from the depths of the well and a curl of white mist flickered at the edge of the low wall before shrinking back from the flame.

Merlin stepped back from the circle Morgana had drawn. A corner of the roof crumbled and he tossed his firebrand across the top of the well to shore up the barricade of flames.

“Let them be, Alrick!”

Merlin looked around in surprise at Royce’s shout. The young man’s face was furious as he strode towards a group of villagers. The leader was a man with a thin silver beard and narrow lips pursed as if he had taken a bite of something sour. One of the men held Ysmay by her arms and another had Uwain. The boy was pale and shaking, his gaze fixed on his father. The former bandit put a hand on the hilt of his blade, but the white-haired man shouted a warning and Merlin saw his companions were armed with axes and scythes.

Morgana paused, the circle she had traced in the dirt beginning to glow faintly.

With one swift move, the white-haired man snuffed out Uwain’s torch, ignoring Royce’s protest.

 “Tell the witch to stop her curse.” Alrick pointed at Morgana. “Now.”

“It’s not a curse, she’s trying to help you,” Merlin said.

Another corner of the thin roof crumbled and fell, hissing when it hit the water far below.

“Valdis cursed us with a plague.” The bushy white brows drew together beneath wisps of silver hair. “Now she’s sent you to finish her evil work.”

Royce’s face reddened. “My grandmother has cared for the people of this village her entire life.”

The man holding Ysmay had a thin face with a scar above his right eye which stood starkly white in his flushed face. “My daughter is dead because of this curse and I won’t let you harm anyone else.”

Royce paused and spoke more calmly. “I’m sorry for your loss, Edern. Truly. My grandmother did all she could.”

“Yet the girl still died,” said the man holding Uwain. “As did my son, as did Claudin’s mother.”

“And here you are, not far from where they were found, with a stranger who is casting an enchantment.” Alrick wore a smug look on his wizened face.

With an angry glare at the old man, Royce turned back to the other men. “There is a curse here and we can contain it so no one else falls victim. Let us stop this.” He glanced at the sky. The sun had already touched the tops of the trees.

“Let you cast another evil spell, more like,” Alrick said. “The old witch is training a new one to carry on her sorcery.”

Morgana’s eyes narrowed. She dropped the branch and took a step toward the white-haired elder.

Merlin quickly stepped in front of her. “We’re here to get rid of this plague. No one else will die, I promise.”

Edern hesitated, his eyes tracking back and forth from Merlin to Royce. His grip on Ysmay loosened and she twisted away.

There was a blood-curdling wail and a wisp of white mist streaked upward from the depths of the well, aiming for the open space where there was no more roof. Royce leapt forward with their last burning brand but Alrick knocked the torch from Royce’s hand.

Bruin landed a blow to the jaw of the man holding Uwain and he stumbled back, releasing the boy as he backed away. Bruin pushed his son behind him and stood between Uwain and the villagers.

The blood-curdling cry sounded again and Merlin saw the wisp reform behind Alrick’s back.

“Look out!” Ysmay shoved the elderly man aside, then she staggered and fell.

“No!” Morgana was by the girl’s side in an instant.

Keeping Uwain behind him, Bruin stepped between the villagers and his daughter on the ground.

“The girl attacked me,” Alrick shouted.

The village men exchanged an uncertain look among themselves.

Alrick’s thick white brows drew together. “Stop them!”

“I saw something behind you,” Edern said. “I think the girl pushed you out of its way.”

Another nodded. While they hesitated, Royce retrieved his smouldering torch and tossed it to Merlin.

A wisp of white flashed by the corner of Merlin’s eye and another scream echoed up from the well. Merlin relit the torch and threw it across the widening gap in the flames roofing the stone circle. Then he repeated the words Morgana had chanted and the circle she had drawn in the dirt flared as brightly as the fire. The Dorocha screamed when it pressed against the invisible barrier.

Merlin shouldered Morgana aside and crouched beside Ysmay. His heart clenched when he saw the frost clinging to the dark curls around her face. Though he knew what he would find, he felt for a pulse in her throat. There was none. His eyes met Bruin’s.

The man’s swarthy skin paled beneath his thick red beard as he dropped to his knees beside his daughter. When Uwain knelt beside him, Bruin clasped his son in one arm.

The villagers backed away, weapons loosely grasped by their sides.

Alrick frowned at them but Royce stepped closer to the old man and stared him down.

“Go away, Alrick. You’ve done enough harm.” He looked around at the other village men. “The threat has been removed. We’re all safe now. Go home.”

“How do we know we’re safe?” one of the men asked.

Royce pointed to the well. “It’s trapped. This plague will not bother us again.”

Edern stepped forward and leaned toward the well. He flinched back and nodded to the others. “There’s something in there that can’t get out.” He looked at Bruin crouched beside Ysmay’s frozen form. “I’m sorry about your girl. I know … I understand …” Tears filled his eyes.

The former bandit fixed him with a malevolent stare and clamped one hand around the blade at his belt. “Get out of here.”

With a last glance at the grieving family, the men turned and moved away.

After the others disappeared from sight, Alrick glared at Royce. “Don’t think I’ll forget sorcery was behind all of this. The day will come when your grandmother pays the price.” With a last scornful glance at Royce, Alrick turned and left. Morgana got to her feet and stared at his back, but to Merlin’s surprise she was pale rather than furious.

Merlin stood as Bruin picked up his daughter’s body and started back toward Royce’s family dwelling. The wisp writhed in its invisible bonds, unable to break free of the well, and Merlin whispered a spell. Anyone who approached the well would experience a feeling of dread and a conviction there was a better place to find water. Then he followed after Bruin in silence.


	8. A Gift

They buried Ysmay the next day.

Merlin had lain awake, staring at the square of sky visible through the hut’s single window as it changed from black to grey to purple to pink. He had heard bats scrabble under the roof, an owl announce the beginning of her hunt, wolves call to each other, and finally a rooster’s crow. Still he had no solutions for the regrets that burned in his heart.

If he had been faster to contain the Dorocha, Ysmay would be alive. If those men hadn’t interfered, Ysmay would be alive. If the villagers hadn’t been so wary of magic, their suspicions easily aroused by a hateful old man, they wouldn’t have interfered. If Morgana had not released the Dorocha, there would have been no threat. If Ysmay’s family had not made this journey, or ever been forced to flee, she would not have been in danger. It was all supposed to change when Arthur became king, wasn’t it? Isn’t that what Merlin had risked his life for over and over? Killed for? Poisoned Morgana for? To make Arthur king. Except there was supposed to be more to it, and that is where Merlin had failed. He had not been truthful with Arthur and Arthur had not learned magic could be used for good. The laws had not changed and people lived in fear of each other. It was all wrong.

But Merlin was at a loss as to what he could do about it now. Confronting Arthur in defiance of his sentence while he was in a temper would make things worse instead of better. Waiting for him to cool off meant too many would suffer in the meantime. His heart was heavy as he stood at the graveside.

Morgana had not slept the previous night either, her shoulders shaking under her blankets in the corner of the hut Royce’s family shared. Finally she had gotten up, fumbled in the darkness to find her cloak and boots, and gone out, probably to find Aithusa. She came back as the others awoke, a bouquet of yellow flowers in her hands. Her eyes as she stood beside the grave were puffy and veined.

Bruin patted down the last of the dirt over his daughter’s final resting place. Tears muddied the dirt. Uwain stared at his father, his own eyes full of moisture, until Royce took the boy by the hand and led him away, murmuring quietly. Valdis followed them more slowly, leaning on a walking stick as she hobbled toward their hut.

Bruin’s bearded chin dropped onto his chest and one dirt-stained hand covered his face. Lynette stepped forward and wordlessly rested a hand on his bowed head. Abruptly, he stood and turned to hug her tightly, his face buried in her brown hair.

Morgana laid her handful of yellow flowers on the mound of soft dirt. Despite the bright sunlight a cold breeze ruffled the blooms.

Merlin turned away and walked across the yard, searching for stones the size of his fist. When he had gathered an armful and returned to the grave, he knelt down and began placing the stones in a neat pile.

Bruin’s thick hand came down on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He paused and looked up at him. “I’m sorry.” It sounded inadequate when the bandit had come to him seeking help and safety for his daughter and Merlin had failed to protect her. “I understand if you want to delay our departure.”

Bruin stepped back to stand beside Lynette. “We won’t be leaving with you.”

“Oh.” Merlin looked from one to the other.

The former bandit dug into a pocket and pulled out Ysmay’s comb. He held it out to Morgana. “She’d want you to have this.”

Morgana took the carved wooden comb and clenched it so tightly the teeth must have bit into her palms. She nodded without speaking.

“You don’t have to leave today,” Lynette said. “You’re welcome to stay with us longer. There will be no further trouble with Alrick.”

Merlin shook his head. “It’s best if we go. Thank you for your kind hospitality.”

Lynette gave him a smile, though it faded quickly. She laid a hand on Bruin’s arm and led him away. Merlin went back to stacking stones.

Morgana looked down at him. “Sorcerers are not permitted marked graves.”

He continued his work. “It won't always be like that. One day we will live in freedom again.”

She gave a short bark of laughter with nothing of humour in it. “You still believe that? After the way these villagers were so willing to listen to that hateful old man? After the way that other lot ran us out of town when we used magic to save them?”

Merlin gritted his teeth and refused to respond.

“Ysmay was no safer under Arthur’s reign than she was under Uther’s. If her family had not been forced to flee, she would be safe and happy in the village she was born in.”

His temper flared. “You and your sister unleashed the Dorocha, it’s your fault Ysmay is dead.”

Morgana flinched. “Next time I take the throne, just stay out of my way. I don’t want your help, all I ask is that you stand aside and do nothing. You’re good at that.”

He stood abruptly and was gratified by a flicker of fear in her eyes.

There was movement at the corner of his vision and he turned to see Valdis leaning heavily on her walking stick, watching them. A cold wind pulled at the white strands that had come loose from her thin braid and she shivered inside her grey, woolen cloak.

The old healer lifted one hand to beckon them closer and Merlin saw that she clutched a bundle of white cloth. She was coughing when he reached her and he offered her an arm to lean on as she doubled over. By the time she regained her breath and straightened up, Morgana had joined them.

Valdis patted his arm. “You’re both leaving today.”

“Yes,” Morgana answered.

Merlin wondered what he would do if she decided they part company, which would leave him alone again.

The old woman pressed the bundle of white cloth into his hands.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It was entrusted to me by someone who is dead now. She assured me I would know who to give it to. I always thought that would be my grandson, but it’s you.” She took one of Morgana’s hands and placed it on top of Merlin’s. “Both of you.”

He did not explain to Valdis the two of them had little experience with collaboration.

“This item is precious. Use it wisely.”

The old woman crossed her hands on top of her staff and Morgana immediately removed her hand from on top of his.

The bundle he was holding had an odd shape beneath the wrappings, something hard and elongated but curved. “Thank you,” he responded though he had no idea what the gift was.

Royce came out of the hut with Merlin and Morgana’s belongings. “Mother told me you were leaving.”

“We are,” Merlin said.

“Thank you for your help.”

“Will there be any further trouble with the villagers?”

“No. Alrick’s companions know my family had nothing to do with that curse. They may harbour doubts about sorcery, but they won’t bother us as long as we keep to ourselves and my grandmother serves as healer,” Royce said. “Besides, they’ll think twice about threatening anyone in my family with Bruin watching over us.”

The big man with his black hair and ginger beard was an imposing sight, and no doubt he knew well how to use the blade he carried. Still, it was risky for anyone in Camelot suspected of dabbling in magic, hidden or no. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“I’ll be fine.” Royce handed over their belongings with a small smile. “Good luck to you.”

Merlin returned the farewell. He packed Valdis’s gift in his bedroll, then shouldered the bag and waved goodbye.

He and Morgana were barely out of sight of the yard when Aithusa dropped from the sky to land in front of them. She stood on her hind legs and spread her wings in greeting. As usual, Morgana dropped to her knees and stroked the scaly head that rested on her shoulder. Merlin patted the warm white scales and Aithusa croaked in response. It felt like being welcomed home.

Morgana was distant and silent as they walked, her fingers wrapped around the wooden comb. Merlin made no attempt at conversation. It was growing harder to hold onto his faith in a brighter future, a kingdom where those with magic were accepted and even valued, and that was not a topic he wanted to discuss with Morgana right now.

Though the sun shone brightly, the day was near freezing and they were lucky to find shelter with four intact walls and a partial roof that evening. The ruins of the old fortress shielded them from the wind and keep in the fire’s warmth. Its attractiveness as a refuge might draw bandits, but Merlin could find no evidence of recent occupation in the weed-filled space.

He unpacked the black bread and cheese Royce had given them as well as a hunk of cooked rabbit Lynette had wrapped in a bit of skin. Wordlessly, Morgana took the share he gave her. The dragon must have already eaten well because she showed no interest in hunting, merely curled up near the fire with her head resting on her front legs.

After their meal, Merlin took out the bundle Valdis had given him. Morgana watched as he unwrapped the white cloth. They had exchanged barely a word since their argument at Ysmay’s grave, but there was a spark of interest in her face now. The curved shape turned out to be a horn, dark brown at its thinnest point fading to ivory around its middle and banded with silver on its rim. The silver rim was marked with delicate scrollwork as was its tip with a thin silver chain running from one end to the other so it could be fastened to a belt or hook.

Morgana gasped and leaned over to take the horn from him. She turned it in her hands and trailed one finger across the silver scrollwork.

“Do you know what it is?” he asked.

“The Horn of Cathbhadh.”

The name meant nothing to Merlin. The item radiated magic, and he was about to turn to Gaius before he remembered the old man was back in Camelot, a place Merlin was forbidden to be. “What’s that?”

“Morgause spoke of it. It had been smuggled out before the temple on the Isle of the Blessed was destroyed by Uther, but no one has seen it since. She suspected it had fallen into his hands after all and was locked in the vaults of Camelot.”

“What does it do?” Usually Merlin was eager to learn all he could of any magical item but something about this horn aroused a deep sense of caution. It was similar to the simultaneous attraction and repulsion he had felt from the Crystal of Neahtid.

Morgana lifted her gaze to fasten on his face. “It summons the dead.”

“Put it away.” Merlin eyed the Horn with distaste.

“There’s no one you want to speak with one more time?” Morgana ran a finger across the horn’s smooth curve. “Questions you never asked that you want answers for?”

He remembered Balinor struggling to form his last words. Then his father’s bearded face was replaced by the smooth features of another who lay dying in Merlin’s arms. He wondered if the Horn would allow him to speak with Freya; she was not in the Other World, only guarding its entrance below the Lake of Avalon. Perhaps she could not be summoned even if he tried.

He frowned at the Horn, feeling its pull and an equally strong aversion. The dead were gone; trying to hold onto them never ended well. “No, there’s no one I want to call back.”

Morgana held her hand out for the cloth wrappings and Merlin gladly gave them, loath to touch the Horn again. He watched as she carefully wound the white rags around it before she gave it back to him. He took it gingerly and stuffed it into the bottom of his bag.

She sat down on her blankets and ran her fingers through her hair, then reached for Ysmay’s comb. She stared at it for a long moment. Finally she yanked it through her hair, barely grimacing when she pulled out tiny knotted clumps instead of working through them. She tossed the comb down and began twisting and yanking her hair without creating anything resembling the smooth plait she had made before.

Merlin winced when another tug pulled out a clump of her hair. “Can I help?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you know how to braid hair?”

“Yes.” Despite her disbelieving glower he knelt behind her, picked up the comb, and smoothed the long, dark locks again. Then he deftly divided it into three parts and braided them, trying to ignore how thick and silky her hair was.

When he tied off the braid, she put one hand on her head experimentally before she gave him an awed look.

He shrugged. “I watched my mother do that hundreds of times. She explained it was exactly like making rope. Never tried it with hair other than a horse’s mane, though.” Which felt nothing at all like Morgana’s tresses.

“Thank you.”

Merlin looked away, embarrassed. He stretched out on his blanket next to Aithusa’s warm body, one hand idly stroking the ridged white scales. Morgana lay down on her own blanket with her brown cloak clutched tightly around herself.

After two sleepless nights, he dropped off quickly and slept deeply so her scream left him disoriented. When he opened his eyes, there was no sky visible above and stiff yellow weeds under him and it took a moment to remember he was camped in the ruins. Then he heard Morgana sobbing. The embers illuminated her face buried in her hands and her black lace-covered shoulders shook.

Quickly, he moved closer and put an arm around her. Her cloak was puddled around her waist and her arms were icy. After their most recent conversations, he thought she may push him away but instead she turned her face into his shoulder. He put his other arm around her and let her cry.

At his whisper, flames leapt up in the campfire. Warmth pushed the cold night air back and illuminated the stone walls and wooden roof.

When her sobs quieted, he leaned back and looked into her face. Her red-rimmed eyes were fixed on the campfire. Inwardly, he cringed at how vulnerable she looked. After three years of gloating, hateful smirks, it was unsettling to see her self-assurance so obliterated.

“You’re safe. You’re not in Sarrum’s pit.”

Her shoulders shook again but the sound was more a bitter laugh than a sob. “I dreamed I was,” Morgana said. “I dreamed I was in the pit only it wasn’t Aithusa there with me.” She looked into his eyes. “It was Ysmay chained down there and she was dead. Dead because of me.”

He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “I’m sorry I said that. It’s not your fault Ysmay died. If that prejudiced old man hadn’t interfered …”

“I’m the one who released the Dorocha. I did it because Morgause convinced me to do it, despite the danger.”

Merlin stroked his hand up and down her arm.

“I felt a connection to Morgause the moment I saw her.” Morgana leaned against him as she talked. “Growing up I was surrounded by people – in Gorlois’s household, at Uther’s court – always so many people. I was never alone. But there was no one I could trust with the secret of my magic, no one to turn to, not even Gwen. I was afraid and ashamed of who I was when I had never felt like that before, not ever." She shivered. “It was Morgause who changed that. She gave up everything to save me and I gave up everything for her.”

 _Everything and everyone_ , Merlin thought but did not say aloud.

“After she was gone I was completely alone. Days and weeks went by when I didn’t hear another voice. Sometimes I was glad Agravaine had invented an excuse to visit me because at least I saw a human face. It was you who turned the dragon on him outside Ealdor, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Is that how Agravaine died?”

“No.” Merlin swallowed. “I killed him.” Killed him to protect Arthur, both from attack and from the truth, for all the good it had done. He had believed in the destiny he shared with Arthur and it had seemed important to defend that.

“I see.”

He did not meet her eyes.

“Agravaine loved me.”

Surprise snapped his gaze back to her face. Arthur’s uncle had been an important and well-connected nobleman. A match between her and Agravaine would have been considered acceptable despite the vast difference in their ages whereas a relationship between himself and the king’s ward – or the king’s sister – was unthinkable. “I thought he blamed Uther and Arthur for Ygraine’s death.”

“He did. That’s why he first approached me.” Morgana rested her head on Merlin’s shoulder. “But he was in love with me. He was quite jealous of Helios’s attention.”

Merlin remembered Gwen’s description of the charming warlord who tried to seduce her. The same muscled warrior who had protectively pushed Morgana behind him in the throne room. Of course he would have noticed Morgana’s sensual beauty. Merlin wondered if she had reciprocated his interest, not that it was any concern of his. “Helios was untrustworthy.”

“Agravaine said the same. That he was my one true ally and friend who wished to never leave my side.”

“Did you intend to marry him?” The thought caused his chest to contract painfully.

“No. From the time I experienced magic it was all I ever wanted. I no longer expected to marry and raise a family. But I didn’t expect to be alone.”

“I was alone, too.”

She stiffened. “You had Arthur and Gwen and everyone in Camelot.”

“None of them really know me.”

“You had Gaius. Apparently you mattered more to him than I did.”

“Yes, I had his protection and guidance and I love him for it, but he doesn’t always understand. It doesn’t bother him to be patient, to be cautious, to be afraid to act and afraid to do nothing at the same time. His magic was not powerful; he set it aside and never felt it well up and erupt in the night if it was contained too long.”

Morgana lifted her head to stare at him with a sympathy he had not seen in her eyes for many years. “That’s exactly how I felt. Gwen tried to help me but she didn’t understand. You understood but you didn’t help me.”

“I tried.” He brushed away from her face a few tendrils of hair that had come loose from the braid. “I just couldn’t tell you I knew what you were going through.” Maybe keeping his secret from her had been his biggest mistake, bigger even than hiding his magic from Arthur. If he had given her an alternative back then, an ally with magic who chose peace over revolution, Albion may not be in jeopardy now. But he had been young and uncertain when she came to the physician’s chambers that night and both Gaius and Kilgharrah had warned him to keep quiet. Usually he trusted his instincts but with Morgana he had never relied on his own judgement, afraid of how deeply his feelings might influence his decisions. So he had listened to those who told him not to trust her instead of heeding his conscience which told him to help someone who was hurting.

She was still staring at him. “You know me better than anyone, maybe even better than Morgause knew me. Neither of us had to be lonely.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I wish you could forgive me. I never meant for you to feel abandoned.”

Morgana blinked.

“I wanted to find another way, I still do. We don’t have to be enemies.”

When she leaned closer and kissed him he kissed her back. It was more desperate than passionate, a plea for consolation or forgiveness. Then everything clicked into place, their physical link bringing mind, heart, and magic together in a circle finally completed.

Their mouths moved against each other softly, searching and hesitant. She shifted closer and her lips pressed harder, slanting across his. His arms clasped her tightly, the kiss deepening as he lowered her back onto the blankets. He felt her hands work the knot of his belt loose.

Merlin was abruptly conscious of where their actions were quickly taking them. He braced himself on his arms and looked at her lying below him. “We can’t …”

“Why not?” Her arms slid under his tunic and caressed the skin of his back. “There’s no one to stop us any more, not Uther, not Arthur’s disapproval, not Morgause’s censure.”

She was right; the barriers that existed had been lowered. They could finally share the connection he had denied them both when he denied the truth, when he let her believe she was the only one to swallow a quivering lump of dread every time Uther walked by. He had sacrificed much in pursuit of destiny; this time he could take what fate had refused them before. Whether the bond between them was love or lust or magic calling to magic, he wanted to experience what could have been.

And she had always been the most beautiful woman he had laid eyes on. His gaze fastened on her full, red lips and ran down to the peaks of her nipples beneath her black lace gown. Her chest rose when she caught her breath and he looked back into her face to see her green eyes darken.

Her hands moved to untie the laces of her dress. He watched, fascinated, as she slowly parted the bodice to expose her breasts. His palm caressed her cheek, then the side of her neck, then moved lower. When his fingers brushed her nipple she gasped and he allowed her to pull his tunic off.

As soon as he was bare-chested, she pulled him tightly against her and kissed him hard.

Her naked breasts against his chest jolted him. He leaned back. “We can’t risk –”

Morgana put her hands behind his neck and pulled him down to her again. “There won’t be a child, I promise.”

For a moment more he hesitated, knowing how angry Kilgharrah would be, how worried Gaius would be, and how betrayed Arthur would feel. Then Morgana shifted beneath him, her hands sliding down his back while she kissed him again and he gave in to his own desire.

It was everything he had fantasized and more. The chasm between them was bridged and the fate which had been denied rushed to fill the gap, easing the pain of past actions and words said and unsaid.

Afterward, they huddled close. They pulled blankets and cloak and discarded clothes around them to protect their bare, sweaty skin from the freezing air. Merlin did not want to think too deeply about why his soul-deep loneliness would be eased by his most relentless opponent. It simply felt good to be connected to someone, not only physically but on every level. They were kin. They understood each other in ways no one else ever would.

Aithusa lifted her head slightly, chirped at them, and laid back down.

Morgana trailed one hand down his chest, pausing to brush her thumb across his nipple. She smiled at his shiver. “Why haven’t you married, Merlin? Gwen isn’t the only maidservant to fancy you and try to get you to notice her.”

He briefly closed his eyes before he met her gaze. “There’s a good chance any child of mine will have magic. I want a home and children, but not in Camelot, not yet. I won’t bring a child into this world to be hated and feared.”

Her hand stilled. “I understand.”

“How can you be certain … I mean, how do you know we have nothing to worry about?” He flushed.

She raised a brow. “Don’t you know spells to prevent unwanted consequences of lovemaking?”

“In all of Gaius’s books I’ve never seen such an enchantment.”

“Books written by men, no doubt.”

Despite her contemptuous tone he was curious. His brow furrowed. “I think they were. Why?”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Men are not interested in women’s concerns. The little knowledge the priestesses chose to write down was mostly lost during the purge, but Morgause collected and saved all she could. Information on magical creatures, enchantments, powerful artefacts, but so much more besides. Spells to prevent conception or terminate a pregnancy if there are problems, to ease pain during birth, to determine if a babe would be a boy or a girl.”

“Some of those would be useful for a physician’s apprentice.”

She trailed one finger down his chest. “Like a spell to prevent pregnancy?”

He caught her hand before it could go lower. “Yes. But I still couldn’t have a family, not until Camelot is safe again. I always thought the day would come …” It was painful to think nothing would ever change.

Her green eyes flashed. “Don’t you see that’s why I must take the throne? To make this world safe for children with magic? For their families?”

Merlin shook his head. “Arthur will build that world.”

“He doesn’t deserve your loyalty. He treats you like a fool. I know he warned you away from me, then continued flirting outrageously with my maidservant.” Morgana’s mouth was set in a hard line. “He’s a selfish, arrogant hypocrite yet both you and Gwen are devoted to him.”

Merlin remembered Arthur’s warning when he jumped to conclusions about why Merlin was trying so hard to cheer up Morgana. The prince’s advice had been well-intentioned, though he had not taken it himself. “He did his best to curtail his feelings for Gwen because he didn’t want to hurt her and he told me to stay away from you because he was trying to protect us.”

“You really believe that, don’t you? Seeing goodness in him but not in me.”

“It wasn’t a competition, Morgana. Gwen and I could have loved you and Arthur both. We did once.”

She caught her breath, staring at him.

“I want the same thing you want, I always have. But not through assassination and overthrow, not Morgause’s way.”

“Didn’t you ever want to see Uther dead?” She appeared more curious than accusing.

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Yes, at times.” He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “But the consequences would have been terrible.”

 “You have to do what’s right, and damn the consequences.”

“Right for who?” he asked quietly. “Right for Morgause?”

To his surprise, Morgana did not grow angry as she usually did when he disparaged her sister.

Instead, her gaze wandered to his bag, folded and set aside. “Morgause was powerful and sure, everything I used to be.”

“Without the love and compassion you had.”

“She cared for me. When everyone else was lost to me, Morgause was the reason I was not alone. Usually her blood guard were nearby, but most often I never saw them, only her. At the end, it was just the two of us. After she was gone, I carried on for us both.” She shuddered. “If she was wrong then the things I did, the sacrifices I made, _her_ sacrifice, were worthless.”

The torment in her words jolted him because she had been so certain her way was right but so had he. If he was wrong about Arthur’s destiny, then the sacrifices he had made, including poisoning Morgana, including the deaths at his hands, had been for nothing. Royce and everyone like him would forever live in hiding and families like Ysmay’s would be continually forced to seek shelter with bandits or flee the kingdom.

Morgana’s voice pulled him from the gloomy thought. “I need to speak with Morgause.”

Merlin frowned. “She’s dead.”

Morgana looked pointedly at the pack lying on its bed of stiff yellow weeds.

His eyes widened. “That is powerful magic.”

“Why should that scare you?”

“Necromancy is dangerous. Something always goes horribly wrong.”

Morgana smiled and laid one hand on his stubbled cheek. “Then it’s a good thing I’ll have you with me.”

The warmth of her fingers distracted him. “I … I don’t know anything about this Horn of Cathbhadh, about the dangers of using it.”

“I do. In the days of the Old Religion, each year at Beltane the High Priestesses gathered at the Great Stones of Nemeton and summoned the spirits of their ancestors. I know they trained for years before entering the Spirit World.”

That was not reassuring.

“The one thing they were schooled never to do was to look back at the spirit as the Veil closed.”

“Why?” Merlin asked warily.

“If they did, they would release the spirit into this world.”

He shook his head. “That’s what I’m afraid of; something always goes wrong.”

She raised a brow. “If you had the chance to return to Camelot and speak with Arthur, would you take it?”

He met her gaze. “Yes,” he said. “I’d want to know if there was still hope, if it was all worth it.”

“That’s why I need to speak with Morgause.”

He cast about for some excuse, something to delay this insane idea, hopefully forever. “What about Helva?”

Morgana cupped his face with her hands. “This is more important.”

“You may regret this.”

“You’ll help me, then?” Her emerald eyes were bright.

Merlin sighed. “Yes.”

~

Gwen stood in front of the full length mirror, trying to reconcile the woman in the blue silk gown with what she usually saw in her reflection. Long sleeves hung down to her waist, lace outlined a deeper neckline than she was entirely comfortable with, there was more material in the skirt alone than in most dresses she had owned in her life, and there were so many deep blue jewels sewn into the bodice that it was stiff. The skirt lay in folds on the floor, completely hiding her expensive silver slippers.

Gwen turned from side to side, watching as the silk and jewels reflected the late afternoon sunlight from the window. Behind her, the door to her chamber opened and she saw Arthur stand transfixed on the threshold, his eyes running up and down her silk-clad form.

She took as deep a breath as she could in the tight bodice. She walked toward him, using her toes to toss the skirt out with each step so it would not trip her, but stumbled yet again.

She let out an annoyed grunt and shook out the skirt, relieved that at least she had not torn it this time. “Now I know why young ladies are dressed in gowns so young; there’s no way to learn to walk in these without years of practice.” Gwen pushed a loose curl out of her eyes, trying in vain to force it back into her elaborate coiffure. “And how on earth do they breathe in these tight gowns? I can barely catch my breath. I’m meant to be washing and sewing ladies’ dresses, not wearing them. I’ll look a fool at the knighting ceremony tomorrow.”

Arthur smiled and moved quickly to take both her shoulders in his hands. “You look beautiful.”

“They’re all laughing at me behind my back, all your courtiers, the knights’ ladies, even the guards, though they take care not to show it.”

“I’ll make it illegal to laugh at the queen,” Arthur promised. “As of now, anyone who laughs will be put to death.”

His wide smile elicited an answering grin. “You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can. I’m the king. My word is law and I would do anything to ensure the happiness of my queen.” He took one of her hands and bowed, holding her hand high, then brushed his lips across her knuckle.

Laughing, she put her other hand on his cheek and smiled into his eyes. Then she sobered as his words sunk into her consciousness.

“What is it, Guinevere?”

“Your word is law. You literally have the power to make laughter illegal if you chose.”

He gave her a puzzled frown. “I suppose I do.”

“Your father had that same power.”

“Yes.” He was still watching her uncertainly.

“With a word from Uther magic was illegal.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed and she quickly continued before he could interrupt.

“One day it was legal and the next people could be put to death for the most superficial brush with a magic-user or an item of magic.”

“Guinevere, my father didn’t act hastily or without provocation. He did what was necessary to protect the kingdom from those who wished to do it harm.”

“What harm was that, Arthur? Helping to conceive a child?”

His expression hardened and he dropped her hand. “If this is about what Leon said, I’m certain he repeated what he thought he heard but he was only a child at the time. He’s mistaken.”

Gwen brushed her thumb across her husband’s cheekbone where her palm cupped his face. “My mother used to bring Elyan and I with her to work in Leon’s parents’ household. I remember, shortly after Elyan was born, that my mother and Leon’s mother spoke of how a baby boy should be a blessing instead of a curse.”

“You were even younger than Leon. You cannot possibly recall their words.”

“No, not exactly,” Gwen said. “But it was something in their tones, a sadness in my mother’s face when she spoke about the infant prince.”

“They said nothing of magic?”

“No,” she admitted.

Arthur placed his hand over hers, pressing it against his cheek and then kissing her palm. “It was a long time ago, Guinvere, and my father is gone. We may never know everything that happened then.”

“Gaius would know.”

“Gaius has proven himself to be a traitor and an accomplished liar. Hardly an unbiased source.”

“Is there such thing as an unbiased source?”

Arthur stepped back. “I believe we were speaking about queenly gowns. I know just the person who can help you.”

Gwen smiled and allowed the change of subject. “Help me learn to walk and breathe at the same time?”

A glimmer of a smile came back to his face. “You have a natural grace and beauty no one can fail to see. But if it would boost your confidence to have this lady’s assistance, I know she would welcome the opportunity to teach you courtly graces.”

“I’d be happy for her help.”

“Then I’ll make arrangements this instant.” Arthur brushed his lips across her cheek and promptly strode out the door.

Gwen turned back toward the mirror and resolutely took a few short strides, using her toes to swish the skirt aside with each step. She made it all the way to the mirror without a stumble but the face that looked back at her was troubled.

~

To travel to the Great Stones of Nemeton they headed south into the heart of the kingdom. They avoided the most heavily used roads and gave the area patrolled by Camelot knights a wide berth. Three days later they were camped at the foot of the White Mountains.

Merlin’s chest was warm where Morgana’s back pressed against him and the heat of the campfire warmed his face and arms. He had pulled up blankets and cloak to shelter his overheated skin from the cold breeze that rattled bare branches above them, stirred the fire, and took the smoke away.

The morning they left the ruins to journey to the Stones, Merlin gave himself a dozen excuses for what had happened that night with Morgana: he was lonely, she was distraught, she needed comfort, he needed company, it was only the remnant of an old fantasy. No one would ever know and it would definitely not happen again. Merlin held to that resolve until he found himself back in her arms the next night.

He had a sterner talk with himself the day following, mentally listing all the reasons it was a bad idea to continue such an intimate association with her.

He was a fool to trust her. She had repeatedly attempted to kill Arthur and him; even twisted his mind to kill the king for her. She must have known he would hang for that, she might even have known it would have destroyed him to cause Arthur’s death. She had done nothing to earn his forgiveness for everything she had done in her pursuit of Camelot’s throne. Yet her actions were not that different from his. He had taken lives in his single-minded defence of Arthur, including lives of his kin. He told himself it was for the good of the kingdom the same way Morgana believed she acted for the good of their kind.

It was a dangerous tryst. If Arthur sought him out, it would do no good to be found in close company with Camelot’s hated enemy. Arthur might understand rescuing her from the Sarrum, but he would not forgive a closer liaison. _Arthur is never going to seek you out. Besides, he was the one to end your friendship and send you away. He has no further say in anything you choose to do._

She was using him. Except in her eyes he saw the same longing for companionship that consumed him, loneliness that had intensified after Arthur’s rejection. Merlin looked at Morgana closely in the firelight. Regular meals, restful sleep, and long days outside walking had softened the lines unrelenting fear and anger had carved in her face. She was not as gaunt and pale as she had been after escaping the Sarrum’s pit, but there was more to the changes in her. A crack of doubt had opened in the wall her sister constructed to separate Morgana from the world.

She lay on her back, her fingers stroking the arm he had wrapped around her middle and her head cushioned by his other arm. “Did you ever imagine a place where everyone had magic?”

“No, not really,” Merlin admitted. “Maybe that’s what it’s like to live with the Druids.”

“Except they’re never allowed to stay in one place for long. The sacred oak groves and shrines have been destroyed and renamed so nothing remains of the Old Ways.” Her fingers stilled as she gazed into the flames. “Morgause told me that at one time the halls of the castle on the Isle of the Blessed were more beautiful than any palace. You could smell the perfume of magic as you approached across the lake. The whole island pulsed with possibility and life.” She turned her head sideways to look into his eyes. “It could be like that again.”

“It would be a beautiful sanctuary.” He paused as he gathered his thoughts. “But I believe magic is a gift that’s meant to be used for the good of everyone, not hidden away on an island. As wonderful as it would be to visit a place like that, to learn there, I would miss my friends and my family. I don’t think everyone with magic should be forced to leave home to find a place to belong. I want to build a world where those with magic and those without live peacefully together and value each other.”

“Morgause never talked like that. Her concern was for those who were the same as us, the ones Uther tried to eradicate. Like Ysmay.” A shadow came over her expression.

“I care about people like her, too. I wish she could have grown up with her mother and her family safe in their village.”

“I wish I could have enjoyed discovering my magic instead of trying to hide it in fear of my life.”

“I understand.” Merlin tightened his arm around her.

Morgana had been the one other person in Camelot to recognize Uther’s injustice. Past Morgause’s half-truths and manipulations, they were the same. If they had found a way to work together instead of always being at cross-purposes, maybe they could have accomplished what they both wanted: a kingdom that was safe for their kin.

He sighed and pulled one of the blankets to cover them both. If there was a reckoning for his association with her, he would face it. In the meantime, he would follow his heart. He didn’t have to be alone.


	9. A Resolution

Wind whipped across the wide grassy expanse, tossing hair into his eyes as Merlin stared at the standing stones in the distance, easily the height of a man. They stood like sentinels, guarding the hill from the passage of time, refusing to bow as wind dug the ground from beneath them.

He had thought they were merely a league away, but after an hour of walking the Stones seemed taller but no closer. Birds shouted to each other as they wheeled in the sky but not a single one landed on the tall rocks which circled the hilltop.

“How big are they?” Merlin asked aloud. “Who raised them?”

Morgana stopped walking to stare at the boulders. “The Stones were here before the time of the Old Religion. Even then, there was mystery to them.” The wind twisted her cloak and whipped her hood back to tug at her braid. She pulled the loose strands away from her face. “But their power has never been questioned.”

Merlin could feel that power. Ancient magic had sunk into the ground and lay as heavily on the grassy hill as the huge stones themselves.

They approached slowly. Aithusa followed them on all fours rather than flying, her nose close to the ground and her wings folded tight to her back. When they were close enough that they had to crane their necks to look up at the Great Stones, Aithusa whimpered and refused to go closer. Morgana hesitated, looked from the white dragon to the circle of standing rocks, then squared her shoulders and continued toward them. Merlin shook his head but followed.

The sun overhead made the shadows cast by the Stones squat close to their feet on the pebble-strewn grass. This near, they towered above the two humans. Merlin used a hand to shade his eyes and examined the area in the middle of the circle where one flat stone stretched across the ground, broken in the middle with weeds growing through the crack. Withered grass stood tall and untrampled all around the hill.

Morgana turned to him and stretched out a hand.

“Are you sure about this?” Several ways that summoning the spirit of a dead sorceress who had died at his hand could go horribly wrong spun through his head. Morgause exercised enormous influence over Morgana and this meeting might re-establish the control only recently weakened.

Morgana waited, hand outstretched.

With a deep sigh he reached into his pack and drew out the wrapped bundle the old woman had given them.

Morgana ripped aside the cloth and grasped the Horn of Cathbhadh. For a moment, she stared at it while her thumb rubbed its smooth curves. Then she gripped it tightly, spun on her heel, and marched into the middle of the ring of stones. She put the horn to her lips and blew one long note.

Merlin blinked and squinted into the sun, but could not focus on Morgana’s black and brown clad form. The air swirled around her as though she stood in the midst of a shimmering heat or a thin fog. Then he could no longer see her at all.

~

The sunlight dimmed. The wind faded away. Morgana could see her breath though the air did not feel cold. She thought there was a door in front of her. When she stepped through it, the Stones around her and the grass under her feet disappeared. She was surrounded by an unnatural silence and stillness that was neither hot nor cold, bright nor dark, with nothingness in every direction. She kept walking.

A shadowy outline of a figure appeared. The shadow seemed to move toward her. It solidified into a person with long blonde hair decorated by tiny jewels, her neck and shoulders bare beneath lace criss-crossed by the red straps of a shimmering gown. “Hello, Sister.”

Morgana’s breath caught in her throat. “I thought I’d never see you again. There isn’t a day that passes when I don’t think of you.”

“And I, you, Sister.”

“I’ve been so alone. I’ve wished you were with me.”

“If I were, I fear you would not like what I had to say.”

Morgana’s heart jumped. How much did her sister know of what had transpired this past year? What failures had she witnessed? What could she see from the Other World? “I tried, Sister. I tried to make you proud of me but it’s been so difficult.”

The blonde’s brown eyes were hard. “I gave my life to release the Dorocha and yet Camelot still stands with Arthur on the throne instead of you and a serving girl by his side.”

“There was a knight; he sacrificed himself to heal the Veil.” With Emrys’s help, no doubt. Morgana swallowed. Would Morgause know Morgana had spent the last weeks in company with the one who had foiled their plans repeatedly and had done nothing to get rid of him? Would her sister know Emrys had even shared her bed?

“I can read the thoughts behind your eyes, Sister.”

Morgana tried to recall if Morgause’s face had been so unforgiving in life. “I –”

“You know who is responsible for our failure to take Camelot. Emrys waits for you right now.” The blonde brows drew together. “He has poisoned your mind against me.”

Was that Merlin’s motive – to corrupt her memories of her sister so she would give up her bid for power? He had fooled her once before, pretending friendship and kindness while secretly working to undermine her. But no, the kindness and compassion she had been seen in him years ago was real; she saw it again in his eyes when he comforted her after her nightmares.

Morgana straightened her shoulders and met her sister’s eyes. “Why did you wait so long to contact me? To tell me I had a sister?”

The blonde priestess waved a hand dismissively. “I waited until you were ready.”

“Ready to be useful to you?”

“Ready to understand what needed to be done.”

“If I had no gift of magic,” Morgana asked, “would you have come to me at all?”

“Of course not. Without the gift, you wouldn’t have needed me. You could have married an arrogant knight or a prince, had that serving girl keep you company, and lived your life in blissful ignorance.”

“You said Gwen could never hope to understand me.”

“She couldn’t. Those without magic know nothing about us, that’s why they hate and fear us. The only ones we can trust are others with magic.”

Merlin had magic. The moment she thought of trusting Merlin, Morgause looked thunderous.

“I was the only one you could trust, but you failed me, Sister.”

“Failed you? Or everyone with magic?”

The jibe did nothing to soften Morgause’s expression. “I had an immortal army at my command and you allowed a serving boy to stop me.”

“With your power and an immortal army at your command, how could a serving boy stop you?” Morgana snapped back. For the first time she realized that army had belonged to her sister, not herself, though she had been crowned queen.

Abruptly Morgause’s brown eyes softened. “Sister, please forgive me. You know how much I want you to take your rightful place on Camelot’s throne. I gave my life for you to reclaim the crown you deserve.”

“Twice I took the crown and did nothing to help those with magic.” Nothing to help Ysmay, to make her life any safer.

“It was necessary for us to consolidate your power before we could make real change.”

Morgana had not questioned the familiar refrain before. “Once Uther was gone, we could have formed an alliance with Arthur. The people love him. He has the power to lead change.”

“He would never have allied with magic-users. It was you who told me of the arrests and raids he carried out for Uther, the innocents slaughtered by his actions.”

The tortured expression in Arthur’s face when he came back from one particular raid swam in front of her eyes. He never talked to her about it but Leon let slip a few details that made her insides churn. The regret she had seen in Arthur that day had never been evident in Uther. Later, she convinced Arthur to defy his father by risking his life to find a cure for Merlin and again to save Mordred. He had stopped Gaius’s execution when Morgana was too frozen with terror to speak against the witchfinder and then he stood shoulder to shoulder with Merlin to demand his father listen to the evidence against that evil bastard. Why had she so completely dismissed her own conviction he was a better man than his father? When had she let Morgause’s view completely obscure what she knew to be true?

She should have confronted him long ago and given him a choice. He was conceited and obnoxious but not implacable. “Arthur is a more worthy king than Uther. The people would have followed him if he overturned the ban on magic.”

Sadness touched Morgause’s face. “But he has not and he never will. I gave him the chance to take the throne from Uther. I told him the truth about his mother’s death and he did nothing.”

Morgana frowned. Something had happened after Morgause came to Camelot that first time and defeated Arthur in a duel, something that drew father and son closer together after their relationship had been strained by the blonde’s appearance. Something that made Leon treat Merlin differently, look at him with an odd respect when the younger man’s back was turned.

She met her sister’s brown eyes. “If Arthur had taken the throne then, would you have needed me?”

Morgause smiled. “You would have been safe then. Arthur would have done anything I asked, given me an honoured position in his court.”

“Would you have told me of our relationship? Tutored me?”

The blonde shrugged. “It would have been simple to find a tutor once magic was free once more. There would have been no need for us to work together.”

Morgana frowned at her sister’s answers.

The spectre of Morgause flickered. “You must go now. If you stay longer you will be trapped forever in the world of the dead.”

“Yes, Sister.” Morgana turned to retrace her steps to the phantom door.

“I always loved you, Sister.”

Morgause’s tender words tugged at Morgana’s heart. Memories rushed back of her sister’s arms cradling her after the breath had left her body, of her sister’s sharp but determined lessons in magic, of the proud and approving smile she bestowed when Morgana pleased her. She longed to turn back for one last glimpse of her sister’s face but the light was growing brighter. The Veil would soon close. If she looked back now, she could release Morgause’s spirit from the Other World.

For an instant Morgana wanted desperately to have her sister’s guiding strength beside her again. Would it be so bad to set her spirit free? Or was this a trick, a deliberate ploy to manipulate Morgana into doing what Morgause wanted?

Resolutely, Morgana faced forward as the air around her cleared. The grass sprang up beneath her feet, the Stones returned to her sight, their shadows barely longer than when Morgana stepped through the Veil.

Merlin stood beside one tall stone, watching anxiously.

She was a fool to forgive him. Had she forgiven him? He always muddled her thoughts and confused her loyalties. She had considered him simple and easily led by his love for Arthur, a peasant ignorant of the ways of power. Now she knew he was anything but simple or ignorant of power. All along he had wanted the same thing she did, the same thing Morgause claimed to fight for, but he had opposed her at every turn in ways she was only beginning to understand. His opposition had not been blind loyalty to Arthur as she supposed, but a mistaken belief that Arthur was the key to freeing magic.

The devastated look on Merlin’s face that day in the throne room when she gasped and choked showed their friendship had been real. He truly was the kind person she had known, but that kindness could be swept aside by ruthless determination. Morgause convinced her benevolence and compassion were weaknesses to be stamped out. Merlin proved tenderness could coexist with power and she would do well to remember he could exercise both.

He also knew how far she would go to mete out justice. Unlike Uther’s conditional love and Arthur’s blind affection, Merlin both knew her and accepted her. When she made choices he disagreed with, he argued with her and he fought back but he did not manipulate her. He was honest in his emotions. She wondered if Morgause had ever been honest with her.

~

Morgana reappeared as though she had stepped through an unseen doorway. Merlin lifted a hand to shade his eyes and examined the area in the centre of the tall standing stones, but there was no vengeful ghost about to attack him or destroy the kingdom. He took his first deep breath since the Stones came in sight.

“Morgana?”

She handed him the Horn as she strode past him without a word. Her expression was closed.

His thumb brushed the silver markings. He looked back at the empty air which had shimmered like a doorway. Quickly, before temptation overpowered caution, he wrapped the horn and stuffed it back to the bottom of his bag. Then, with a last glance at the tall, dried grass bowing in the wind that whipped through the stones, Merlin turned and followed Morgana.

Aithusa took to the air on their return journey, her line of flight straight as an arrow’s path. In moments she had shrunk to a shimmering dot in the empty blue sky.

Merlin and Morgana walked in silence until the giant stones finally disappeared from the horizon. By then, their shadows were far ahead of them.

“We should make camp,” he said.

Morgana stopped abruptly as if suddenly reminded he was there. Her head jerked up and around, taking in the leaf-covered ground, the trunks and bare branches of trees that lined the banks of a hollow that had once been a stream bed. She nodded.

Merlin busied himself gathering deadfall and built a fire. Morgana sat with Aithusa’s head in her lap, staring into the distance. She silently took the food he offered. By the time they had finished eating and he had completed every possible task he could think of, it was full dark and Morgana had not said a word.

He leaned back with one elbow braced on the leafy ground and stared at her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Her gaze fixed on his face.

“What happened at the Stones? Did you see your sister?” He held his breath as she nodded slowly.

“I saw Morgause.”

“Did you find out what you needed to know?” Had the blonde priestess managed to twist Morgana’s thoughts again, even from beyond the world of the living?

“I know she would never have contacted me, never helped me if she hadn’t needed me to take over Camelot.” Morgana leaned forward, wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees, and rested her chin on them. “She cut me off from everyone else, convinced me I could trust no one. Since it had been demonstrated to me so graphically how my trust in you was misplaced, I was easy to convince.”

“Morgana, I never wanted to poison you. I tried to find another way but there was no time; Morgause would have killed us all without a second thought and executed anyone else who got in her way.” He hoped Morgana had forgiven him, but some choices stay with you forever.

“That’s not the only time, or even the first time you abandoned me, though.” Her voice was quiet.

He wished she would yell at him again and slap him. “I am deeply sorry I wasn’t truthful with you when you asked me about your magic.” If she had not gone looking for allies elsewhere, she could have helped him change Arthur’s mind instead of reinforcing his belief magic was evil and corrupted her soul.

“You could have helped me, instead you sent me away.” Her brow furrowed as she took a quick, indrawn breath. “The Druids you sent me to, I thought you got the location from Gaius but you didn’t, did you?”

Merlin shook his head. “I stole a look at Arthur’s list of suspects.”

Her lips tightened. “The old physician couldn’t grant me even that small comfort. What did he think of your interference?”

“He was angry at first.” When her expression darkened he hurried on. “But he was mostly fearful of what Uther would do.”

“Afraid of losing his lucrative position by Uther’s side?”

“No. He was afraid for the dozens of people rounded up to be executed because Uther wanted someone to blame for your disappearance.” Merlin had warned Forridel in time for her to flee, but he had not been able to save them all.

Morgana shuddered. “I would have been one of them had Uther known the truth.”

“I don’t think so. Uther would never have harmed you.”

She shook her head sadly. “His hatred of magic outweighed any concern he had for me.”

Merlin remembered the king’s heartbroken sobbing when he thought Morgana would die of her head wound and his desperate order that Gaius use any means possible to heal her. Uther had been devastated when Arthur nearly died but he had not resorted to magic to save his son. “Uther wouldn’t have executed you, but he would have put dozens of others to death for corrupting you.”

“Starting with my physician.” She narrowed her eyes at his face. “Which would have left you unprotected and vulnerable to discovery. Gaius put his welfare and yours above mine.”

“He was worried about me, yes, and that’s part of the reason he forbid me to get involved in your problems but he truly thought he was protecting you, too. Nevertheless, I should have told you the truth that night.”

“You shouldn’t have listened to that deceitful old man or that vile monster.”

For once, her anger did not seem to be directed at him.

“Gaius and Kilgharrah did what they believed was right.”

“As did Morgause.” A bitter smile twisted Morgana’s lips. “But all she wanted was to manipulate me.”

Merlin frowned at the comparison.

He recalled the distraught look on Morgause’s face as she snatched Morgana’s body from his arms in the throne room. “She did care for you, you know.”

“I know she loved me, just not as much as she cared about seizing power. She was using me, like you said. She must have decided a long time ago the only way to change things was by taking the kingdom. Then she forgot the real goal was change because she focused on taking control.” A smile touched Morgana’s lips. “I admired her conviction and single-minded drive. I did everything in my power to help her, the one person in the world that understood me, and when she was gone I kept trying.”

“You’ve always done what you believed to be right. No matter how frightened you were, you kept on.”

“The opposite of you.”

His gaze snapped to her face but she did not seem angry or accusing, her green eyes thoughtful.

“You chose to wait and watch even though nothing scared you. Except the truth.”

He wanted to deny it but it was true. He had been scared to tell Arthur the truth, scared of his friend’s reaction, scared of losing the only place he felt at home. And he had lost it anyway. He sighed. “It’s ironic.”

Morgana raised her brows.

“Arthur banished me because he thought our friendship was only about bringing back magic, but everything I’ve done lately has been about Arthur, his life, not about magic at all.”

“We both lost sight of what’s important.”

They had both failed. So many chances missed. He shook his head sadly. “I wish I had been more sure of myself. I wish I had been confident enough to be honest with Arthur and with you.”

She tilted her head, watching him.

He smiled slightly. “I know now who I am, and it isn’t something to be scared of.”

She caught her breath at the reminder. “For a long time I’ve closed everyone out, not trusting anyone, scared to be hurt again. But I’m tired of being alone.”

“I promise you won’t be alone, Morgana.”

Aithusa lifted her head from Morgana’s lap and sat up straight. Then she raised herself on her hind legs. “Magic,” she croaked.

Merlin looked at her in awe, then met Morgana’s stare. “Did that sound like …?”

Morgana nodded, her eyes wide. “I think so.”

Aithusa unfurled her wings and flapped them once. “Magic.”

“She spoke.” Merlin felt his face would crack with the width of his smile.

“She told me her name, but that’s the first word I’ve heard from her.”

The little dragon flapped her wings once more. “Destiny.”

Morgana gasped and he felt her gaze on him but he was staring at Aithusa. Were all dragons obsessed with destiny? He reached out a hand and the dragon pushed her head against him. Then she settled back down and curled up again wearing what he could have sworn was a smug expression.

“I don’t believe in destiny,” Morgana said.

He was surprised at the coldness of her tone.

Her sharp green gaze was fixed on his face. “We make our own path. Nothing is immutable.”

“I’m beginning to agree with you.” Merlin wondered at her strong reaction to the word.

She regarded him intently. “You can’t give up on returning magic to Camelot.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Maybe in time –”

“No. You waited too long as it is. I’ve been reminded what’s important and I’m going to build a kingdom that’s safe for people like us, for children like Ysmay.” Her voice hitched, then continued even stronger. “A kingdom where magic is not hated and feared and no one is forced to live in hiding or flee. And you won’t stop me. You shouldn’t stop me. You should help me.”

He sat up straight, his thoughts jumbled. For years he had clung to belief in his destiny, his and Arthur’s, but that belief had been shaken. Still, he had seen the destruction Morgana and Morgause wrought in their repeated attempts to take the throne and he knew they had been wrong, even if his hiding in the shadows had not helped, either. “A coup means civil war, and war means misery for those with magic as well as those without. Morgause, Cenred, Helios – their armies left a trail of death and destruction Camelot has yet to recover from.”

“The only ones who were cut down were those who supported Uther’s reign of terror.”

“Like the people in the courtyard when you ordered your soldiers to fire into a crowd?”

Her chin shot up and she glared at him. “Those people were loyal to a man who would have executed you or I, even Gaius, without a moment’s regret.”

Merlin shook his head. “They had no say in who their ruler was. They were only going about their business.”

“They were there to see those knights executed, as they gathered to see sorcerers beheaded and burned countless times before. Anyone who tolerated Uther’s reign was as guilty as he.” There was accusation in her green eyes.

Merlin winced. He had tolerated Uther’s tyranny and, unlike the people in the courtyard, he had been in a position to end it. People had suffered while he waited for Arthur’s reign to begin. Now Arthur was finally king but the suffering had not ended.

He cringed at what Kilgharrah would say about giving up on destiny, but was his guidance trustworthy? The Great Dragon was cryptic at best and manipulative at worst. Or maybe he had been wrong in his interpretation of the prophecies; Ruadan certainly had an entirely different take. Merlin wished he could speak with Gaius, though he knew what his guardian would advise. The old man was ceaselessly cautious and had been willing to support Uther’s reign of terror and maybe that was wrong, too.

“You have no army, Morgana, and I won’t help you attack Camelot.”

“Perhaps Ruadan can help me.”

“You don’t know if he’s a Seer, a deluded fanatic, or a fool.”

“If he can’t aid me, I’ll find an ally who will. I am a High Priestess of the Triple Goddess and the last of my kind, destined to bring back the old ways.”

“Morgana –”

“Isn’t that your destiny, too, Emrys? To bring back the old ways or unite them with the new or something like that? Nothing has changed under Arthur’s reign,” she said softly.

Merlin shook his head to clear it. “He deserves a chance to put things right.”

“It’s too late. Perhaps there was a time when I could have convinced him to accept me for who I am and elicited his support but he will never trust me again. Neither of us trusted him enough to be truthful and now he considers us both traitors.”

“He’s hurt and angry, it won’t last forever.”

“It’s already lasted too long.” Morgana pursed her lips. “It’s too late to turn him from his father’s path.”

“He stood up to his father about knighting commoners and he went against the advice of every one of his Councillors to marry Gwen. He made peace with Caerleon and with Nemeth. And he made peace with the Druids.”

“But his attitude to magic hasn’t changed. He’ll never agree to accept our kind.”

“He did once.”

Her brow furrowed. “When?”

“He agreed to change things in exchange for his father’s life. Then, instead of healing Uther, my spell killed him.” The agony of that disappointment still festered.

She blinked. “My spell killed him.”

Merlin nodded silently.

“I felt it. When it happened, I felt his pain.” Her gaze was far away, or maybe she was looking inward.

“Uther loved you. Even after he knew about your magic, your betrayal, your hatred and fear, he loved you.”

She shook her head. “He refused to acknowledge me. He didn’t deny my claim, but he never once named me his daughter. He couldn’t accept me for who I really was. He had to die. There was no hope for magic as long as he ruled.”

“If I had healed Uther, things would have been different when Arthur became king.” Merlin had been so close to fulfilling destiny at that moment.

Morgana raised a brow. “Which would have been when?”

Merlin paused. Uther had not been elderly or ill, he might have reigned for years or decades longer. It would have been a long, painful, dangerous wait until Arthur had an opportunity to fulfill his promise. How many people would have died for the crime of magic in the meantime? Morgana’s interference had ended that wait. If only her action had not cemented Arthur’s hatred of magic at the same time.

“Arthur’s attitude will not change now,” she said. “We had our chances. It’s too late.”

Disappointed at his failure to save Uther, Merlin had thought the same. But a year had passed and his hopes had slowly risen as he watched the self-conscious prince gain confidence as a ruler. “If Arthur knew how the Druids are still being treated in Camelot, if he saw there are loyal, peaceful citizens he has sworn to protect who are being persecuted for magic, he’d change things. I know he would.”

“Who’s going to tell him?”

“I will.”

“You’re banished. You risk your life simply being here in Camelot.”

An urge to giggle despite the gravity of their conversation made his lips twitch. “I risked my life in Camelot every day.” He shifted closer to Morgana and took her hands in his. “I helped you speak with Morgause, promise you won’t act until I speak with Arthur. He wasn’t ready to listen before and he didn’t give me a chance to explain. But he trusted me once. If I convince him to trust me again, I know he’ll put an end to the madness his father began.”

Morgana briefly closed her eyes and sighed. Then she fixed her gaze on him. “What if he does not?”

 _What if he does not? He already rejected you._ “I don’t know.”

She tipped her chin to the side and raised a brow. “You’re asking me to give you a chance. What will you give me in return?”

Merlin took a deep breath. “If I can’t persuade Arthur to trust me and let me return to Camelot, I won’t be in your way anymore.” Then how long could he keep her from resuming her attempts to take the throne by force? She may not have an army now, but King Odin hated Arthur and Saxons were an ever-present threat. It would be only a matter of time until she found another ally and Merlin would not be there to protect Camelot.

Arthur knew that, but it would not stop him from doing what he believed to be right. If he decided magic was evil, he would not condone its use even in his defense. Merlin would honour that choice. He would no longer act in secret. It was one thing to flaunt Uther’s hypocrisy, it was another to defy Arthur’s considered judgement.

“There’s a difference between fate and destiny and maybe I failed destiny by not telling Arthur the truth. Maybe he never was the great king prophesied and I saw what I wanted because I needed a place to belong. But your wars and betrayals hardened his heart. I have to try to fix our mistakes.” Merlin squeezed their joined hands. “If I convince Arthur that magic and those who practiced it are not evil and dangerous, together we can build a kingdom that’s fair and just for all. If he listens to what I have to say and still rejects magic, then I’ll accept his decision but there will be no place for me in Camelot. I won’t wait any longer. I’ll find a different way to help those who need me.”

For a long moment Morgana searched his eyes. Eventually she nodded. “Meet with Arthur. But I’m going with you.”

All the reasons that was a bad idea raced their way to his tongue. Not least of which was how returning in the company of Camelot’s most dangerous enemy would fuel rumours of his alliance with her. “I don’t think –”

“I’m going with you, Merlin. I’m going to hear Arthur’s words for myself.”

Her mouth was set in the firm line that meant no one and nothing was going to sway her.

He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “You have to promise not to harm anyone. And if Arthur accepts magic, you have no more quarrel with him. You can’t hold his father’s actions against him.”

She remained tight-lipped but gave a short, sharp nod.

“The knights won’t let you near the king,” he said.

“They have orders not to let you within the kingdom at all.”

“I’ll use that to my advantage.”

She raised one black eyebrow.

“If I’m seen in Camelot, Arthur will be informed and a patrol will be dispatched. Whoever arrests me can take my request for a meeting to the king.”

“If he refuses?”

“I keep asking until he agrees.”

~

Arthur pushed open the door to the physician’s quarters and strode in. The door banged back against the wall and Gaius jumped, turning in his chair to peer at the king over his glasses. Arthur had not seen the elderly man in days, and only rarely in the weeks prior, and he was surprised how much the lined face had aged. He barely remembered a time when Gaius was not white-haired, but all of a sudden the physician looked old.

He was sitting at his workbench, not standing the way Arthur was used to seeing him. The king greeted the old man more gently than he intended when he barged in.

“Sire.” Gaius braced a hand on the table to get to his feet.

Arthur waved him back into his seat and sat on the bench opposite.

The old man settled back in his chair, watching the king thoughtfully. “What can I do for you, Sire?”

“I want you to tell me what you know about the beginning of the Great Purge, which I suspect is a lot more than you’ve told me in the past.”

The old man’s white eyebrow went up. “Was there a specific question you had?”

Arthur clenched his jaw. “Why did my father ban magic?”

“An evil sorceress was plotting to take over the kingdom. She was responsible for the death of your mother.”

It was the same old story and Arthur felt his temper rising again. “I’ve been told that. What I want to know is how exactly did this sorceress cause my mother’s death?”

Gaius was silent for a long moment and Arthur’s nerves stretched further. He was about to lose his temper when the old man spoke again.

“She did as your father asked.”

Arthur felt the breath leave his lungs. He stared at the physician, looking for any sign of falsehood. After all, the man had been hiding a sorcerer in Camelot for years and probably lied about a good number of other incidents related to magic. But the king could detect no sign of guile in the lined face. “What do you mean?”

“Nimueh was your father’s friend, a member of his court. He asked her to use magic to give him the one thing he lacked.”

“A son.”

Gaius nodded.

Pain churned in Arthur’s gut. “He was willing to sacrifice my mother for an heir.”

“No.”

Arthur narrowed his gaze at the old man.

“He didn’t know the cost would be Ygraine’s life. He only knew the kingdom would be in peril if he died without an heir. I remember the turmoil when Uther’s brother, Ambrosius, died childless. If Uther had not already been a successful war leader, if he had not moved swiftly to silence Lot and the other challengers for the throne, this land would have plunged into civil war. Uther could not risk that happening after his death. So he went to Nimueh and she agreed to ensure Ygraine conceived.”

“Did this sorceress – Nimueh – know my mother would die?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Then she wasn’t guilty of any crime and my father was a hypocrite and a liar who executed the innocent in vengeance.”

“Not entirely. Nimueh knew a life would be taken in exchange for your birth and she didn’t care whose. She also knew this favour would bind the king to her even more tightly and expand her power and influence at court. She had moved several close associates into high-ranking positions, associates who were not afraid to practice dark magic. Many of those your father executed in the early days of the Purge were truly enemies of the kingdom, consumed by their lust for power.”

“Many but not all?”

Gaius folded his hands in front of him, the long sleeves of his red robe trailing over the table’s edge. “Not all, no. There were those caught in the Purge who were innocent of any crime except contact with magic.”

Arthur watched the old man’s face closely. “Did you assist them to escape?”

“A few. I was physician to the king and he trusted me to do what was right for the kingdom. If he suspected anything because of my past, he let it go without question.”

The honesty Arthur saw in Gaius’s face encouraged him to ask what he truly wanted to know. “If this is true, why did Merlin tell me Morgause lied?”

The old man leaned forward and met his eyes. “I asked him that and he admitted he was tempted to let Uther die but you would never forgive yourself for killing your father. Merlin wouldn’t let that destroy you, even if he believed justice would have been served had Uther paid with his life for causing the death of his own wife.”

Arthur sat back in the chair, his eyes on the old man’s face but his mind spinning. Morgause had intended to infuriate him to the point where he would expose his father and kill him or depose him and no doubt she planned to be by Arthur’s side when he assumed control of Camelot. She probably planned to step into the position Nimueh held before she was thrown from Uther’s court. Morgause had been a dangerous enemy. On the other hand, it _was_ truth she had used to enrage him which meant that vision of his mother had probably been real.

Merlin knew it had been real. He had seen Uther’s hypocrisy and the injustice of living in secrecy because the king would punish him for a deed that had happened before he was even born, a deed Uther participated in. Yet Merlin’s priority had been Arthur and the good of the kingdom, not his own benefit. Or did he want to ensure it was himself beside Arthur’s throne and not Morgause?

“Why did my father not execute Nimueh?”

Gaius stiffened but did not look away. “She had been his friend and advisor. He banished her instead.”

Arthur took that in. How similar had that relationship been to his friendship with Merlin? “What followed?”

“The bitterness between them grew as the Uther’s war on magic escalated. In the end, either of them would have rejoiced at the death of the other.”

A tragic end to their friendship and Camelot’s people had suffered through all of it. No winners, only fear and death and pain. “What happened to Nimueh?”

“Merlin killed her after she cheated on the bargain he made with her to save your life,” Gaius said quietly.

Two thoughts hit Arthur at the same: Merlin had defeated an opponent powerful enough to defy his father for twenty years and he had apparently done so in Arthur’s defense. At the same time he had removed his predecessor and rival. Nimueh had endangered Arthur’s life but she had also stated he would not die at her hand. Perhaps, like Morgause, she would have put him on the throne in exchange for a position of power in his court, the position Merlin expected to occupy. “What of Morgana?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Sire.”

“We know now Morgana allied with Morgause at some point with the intent of taking the kingdom and overturning my father’s laws against magic. Was Merlin ever in league with them?”

“No. He did everything he could to protect you and your father and Camelot.”

“Why?”

“Merlin knew you were the best hope for the kingdom.”

“Hoping that when I took the throne I would change the laws?”

“He did hope that, yes. But he has stayed with you this entire year even though he despaired of your attitude to magic ever changing after what happened when Uther died.”

The king clenched his hands around the arms of his chair. “You know exactly how my father died, don’t you?”

“Odin’s assassin –”

“I know that part. I want to know if magic could have saved him, and that old sorcerer – Merlin –ensured his death?”

“Merlin’s healing spell was working. It was Morgana who ultimately caused Uther’s death.”

Arthur was taken aback. “Morgana? She wasn’t even here.”

“Agravaine was.”

Gaius watched him in silence until realization crept over Arthur. His uncle, the traitor working with Morgana.

“I found a silver charm around Uther’s neck. It had been enchanted to reverse the effects of a healing spell.”

Shocked, Arthur stared at the old physician. He had hoped in his heart Morgana was not so far lost to hate that she would actually kill him or his father. There had been regret in her eyes when they faced each other in the throne room last year. Arthur was certain he had seen a reflection of his own sadness at their damaged friendship, but hard coldness erased that regret as she held up a hand and pronounced a spell. Yes, she would have killed him as she had killed their father. And she most certainly intended to murder Guinevere. The only reason she had not succeeded was because they had been saved by powerful magic.

“That’s what Morgana meant when she said Emrys couldn’t save me, she meant Merlin.” Arthur frowned. “But she didn’t so much as look at him.”

“Morgana knows a sorcerer named Emrys has been working against her, but she doesn’t know that sorcerer is Merlin or even that he has magic.”

Arthur rubbed a hand across his forehead to try to ease the pressure building there. Merlin had been protecting them from Morgana, even though he would have been free under her rule. But was it out of friendship and loyalty or for the power and influence it would eventually bring him under Arthur’s rule? He had been so convinced Agravaine had his best interests at heart, but the man had brought Camelot to its knees. The king could not put another traitor in a position of power. Was Merlin a self-serving opportunist or a loyal friend? How would Arthur learn the truth now Merlin was gone? “I judged him too hastily. Agravaine pretended love and loyalty when his true allegiance was Morgana and I was so afraid I had been betrayed by another close friend that I made assumptions.”

“Merlin has been interfering with Morgana’s plans to betray the kingdom for longer than you can imagine.”

The king pressed harder against his temples. He had been oblivious to the suffering that turned her against them as he had been oblivious to Merlin's peril working against her from the shadows. “There are many who say he has joined her and is plotting another assault on Camelot. They’re wrong, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Gaius said. “The last place he’d be is with Morgana.”

~

Merlin gave his true name whenever asked. If they were refused food or shelter because of the tales about him, they merely continued on their way heading in the direction of the city. Morgana kept the hood of her cloak over her head, which was not remarkable in the winter cold, and continued to use an alias on the rare occasions the peasant woman was addressed directly.

They had yet to confront a patrol of knights. Merlin intended to request an escort to the king so he could deliver his plea for a parlay in person. Hopefully they did not merely attack him on sight. Surely any knight would rather let his superiors in the city deal with a renegade sorcerer than try to execute him on the spot as long as the sorcerer went peacefully. Camelot’s knights would recognize Morgana no matter how she dressed, but he planned to defuse any confrontation.

“Aithusa can’t come with us,” Merlin said.

“Yes, she can.”

“It’s not safe for her in Camelot, not yet.”

Morgana folded her arms. “Where can she go that’s safe?”

“I’ll send her back to Kilgharrah.”

Morgana frowned but eventually agreed to the little dragon’s absence until after their meeting with Arthur. Aithusa looked from one of them to the other, chirruped “magic” and “destiny” again, the sum totality of her vocabulary so far, and obediently took to the sky.

Without Aithusa within arm’s length through the night, Merlin worried Morgana’s nightmares would become more frequent. Instead she slept soundly, snuggled close to him even on the nights when it was too cold or they were too tired to make love. Only once in the past week had she woken up screaming, and she had quieted as soon as he put a comforting arm around her and assured her she was safe.

He watched her sleeping and tried to puzzle out what he felt about her. His feelings for Freya had been tender and uncomplicated; he never doubted it was love. Morgana twisted his emotions in knots. He alternated between wanting to kiss her for her bravery and wanting to strangle her for her recklessness. He had felt admiration, desire, anger, pity, and guilt but not hate, even when she hated him. _A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole._ Merlin hoped Morgana did not hate him anymore, even though her feelings were more of a mystery to him than his own.

Two days of walking brought them to a town without a healer and Merlin found a brisk trade in his services as well as his stock of remedies. Only one person showed any reaction to the name of the fugitive warlock. That man hitched his cart and headed out on the main road after one narrow-eyed stare.

Morgana was a surprisingly competent physician’s assistant. By the end of the day, the local inn was happy to offer them a meal and a chamber to themselves in exchange for a supply of medicines and a few coins.

The luxury of a bed after so many weeks was nearly as enjoyable as being in a place warm enough that they could be completely undressed without shivering. There was no hearth in the room but heat from the kitchen below meant they could comfortably lie together on the bed after their lovemaking. Morgana’s leg was thrown across his and her hand idly traced across his chest. The scars around her wrists had faded to red stripes.

“I would have gone mad in that pit if you hadn’t gotten me out.”

The memory of the Sarrum’s stinking pit made his stomach coil in disgust. “They would have moved you from there as time passed. It would have been too small to hold the dragon much longer.” Already Aithusa had tripled in size.

Morgana’s hand stilled. “I think the Sarrum would have left us in there anyway.”

“But the dragon wouldn’t have been able to grow. Surely …” Merlin frowned. Not even the Sarrum could have been so cruel as to allow a growing creature to become deformed and twisted confined in a tiny pit. Morgana’s voice pulled him away from the unimaginable picture.

“I can understand why a dragon’s first word would be magic, but why do you think she said ‘destiny’?”

Merlin chuckled wryly. “Kilgharrah is big on destiny, too.”

“The Great Dragon? Why?”

Merlin slid his gaze sideways at her but there was only curiosity in her face. “Kilgharrah is the one who told me it was my destiny to protect Arthur, and Arthur’s destiny to return magic to Camelot. To all of Albion in fact.”

“You believed him?”

“Not at first, but it didn’t take long to see that Arthur is a good man. Despite his faults, he’s a good king.”

“What of my destiny?”

Merlin tried to hide his reaction to her question but her eyes narrowed.

“The dragon doesn’t like me, does he?”

“No. In fact he …”

“What?”

Merlin shifted onto his side to face her. “He’s the one who told me to kill you, to rejoice when you were dying. That you could not be trusted, neither you nor Mordred.”

Her eyes widened. “That dragon wanted me dead?”

Merlin dropped his gaze and nodded. “More than once. He knew what you would do.”

A muscle ticked in her jaw. “It sounds like he played a part in setting that up.” Then her brows drew together. “What could a child like Mordred have done to be untrustworthy?”

“Apparently Mordred is destined to kill Arthur.”

“That little boy?” She frowned at him. “Were you supposed to kill him, too?”

“I was told to let him die, yes.”

“Merlin,” she gasped. “You didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t. But I almost let him be captured and executed instead of playing my part in his rescue. Then I nearly got him captured again.” The boy’s blue eyes had been so cold. _I shall never forgive this, Emrys, and I shall never forget._

Morgana shook her head slowly without taking her eyes from his face. “Do you believe,” she hesitated, “do you believe so firmly in destiny?”

“I did. Maybe I still do.” He reached over and ran his fingers through her hair, smoothing it behind her ear. “Why?”

Her eyes darkened as his fingers continued to stroke the side of her face and down her neck. “Something I was told once,” she said breathlessly.

He was going to ask who it was and what had been said about destiny but Morgana’s hand moved, trailing lower. He pulled her closer to kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and/or comments!


	10. Summit

Merlin returned to the inn after his morning round of patients who had not seen him the previous day or who needed a second visit. Morgana had remained in their chamber to pack their things along with two days’ worth of food they bartered from the innkeeper. They were still a few days away from Camelot’s citadel. They could make the trip in one day if they had horses, but mounts were beyond their combined resources.

Merlin was crossing the frosty mud of the inn’s dooryard when he heard a group of riders approach. The sight of red cloaks with golden dragon logos made his heart stutter momentarily before he reminded himself of his intention to face any patrol he happened to meet and convince them to bring him before the king.

Resolutely, he waited in front of the inn as the riders slowed to a halt in a barrage of mud clumps. His eyes grew wide when he recognized the long, dark locks of the lead knight. “Gwaine?”

A grin stretched the knight’s full lips between his dark mustache and clipped beard. “Merlin, my friend.” He dismounted quickly and threw one arm around the younger man’s shoulders.

Merlin returned the one-armed hug, a wide smile of relief on his face. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“This is an odd place to patrol.” Merlin wondered if the man who left town with his horse and cart the previous day had told this patrol where to find a fugitive warlock.

“We heard a sorcerer using the name Merlin was passing this way.”

The other knights had remained mounted and were watching him narrowly.

Merlin gave them a nervous glance and stepped back to look Gwaine in the eye. “Are you here to arrest me for being in Camelot?”

“We’re here to escort you to an audience with the king.”

“Why?”

“I’d tell you if I knew.” Gwaine shrugged. “All I know is that Arthur sent a group of us out in every direction a few days ago looking for you. We got lucky and came across tales you were traveling this way, then an hour ago we met a man who directed us to this town.”

“Arthur wants to speak with me?” Merlin asked slowly.

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know why?”

“I haven’t been in his confidence lately. It might be something I said about arrogant prats who turn their backs on friends.” Gwaine grinned. “Actually, this is the first assignment I’ve gotten in the past month that didn’t involve polishing boots or cleaning armour.”

His friend’s loyalty warmed Merlin’s heart, though he felt bad the noble-in-disguise knight had been put to such menial tasks again.

Doubt crept into Gwaine’s expression. “I assumed you’d be willing to come?”

Merlin smiled reassuringly. “I was going to ask him to speak to me, actually.”

“Good. Then we can –” The words died on Gwaine’s tongue

 He gave a shout and drew his sword. The other knights immediately followed suit, all their blades pointed at the person who had come out of the inn.

“No!” Merlin said.

Gwaine had already drawn back his arm and aimed a vicious sword stroke at Morgana’s chest but her eyes flashed and the blade flew out of his hand. He grabbed for a knife but the hilt turned red hot in his hand, as did the hilts of the other knights’ swords. Most of them dropped their weapons, but Gwaine threw the knife anyway, his aim true.

Morgana raised one palm and the blade froze in midair a hand’s breadth from her throat. It flipped over lazily and darted back toward Gwaine.

“ _Culter, ic þe hate_.” The knife froze again at Merlin’s outstretched hand, then clattered to the ground.

Morgana smirked at the knight’s tight-lipped chagrin. “Still the hot-head. Agravaine warned me to be careful of you.”

Merlin stepped between Morgana and Gwaine, eyes fixed on Morgana. “You cannot hurt him.”

“He’s a knight of Camelot. One of Uther’s puppets, guilty of dragging many of our people to their deaths.”

“Gwaine was not even in Camelot during most of Uther’s reign.” Merlin gave her a hard stare, remembering what the knight looked like when they rescued him from the dungeon after Morgana’s most recent rule. His body had been covered with untreated wounds and he had been weak from lack of food. “He only became a knight two years ago and he has no quarrel with magic. He accepted me without question.”

Morgana’s eyes darted to the side. Gwaine had drawn his short sword and was angling to get around Merlin while Morgana’s attention was focused on the warlock. Merlin put himself between them again.

“Merlin.” Gwaine shot him a questioning look.

“You don’t need to attack. I won’t let her harm any of you.” Merlin gave Morgana a sharp stare before turning his gaze back to the knight. “But she’s coming to Camelot with me.”

Gwaine stared open-mouthed, his eyes narrowing. “Are you under her control or something?”

Merlin shook his head. “No.”

“Then what do you mean she’s with you?” Gwaine grabbed his arm. “Do you know what she’s done? What she’s capable of?”

“Better than anyone,” Merlin said.

Gwaine glared at the witch. “How can you stomach her company?”

“I remember what she used to be like.”

“If there was ever a shred of goodness in her it’s well buried.”

“And that’s partly my fault.” Merlin refused to look away from Gwaine’s narrow-eyed stare. “And you don’t know everything I’ve done, what I’m capable of, what I’ve used my magic for.”

The knight flinched at Merlin’s quiet words, studying his face carefully. He let go of his arm and stepped back. “I guess I don’t.”

The knights watched the interchange, several with hands on the hilts of various weapons. A few had dismounted to retrieve the swords they had been forced to drop, but none advanced on Morgana.

“This is madness.” One of the knights who remained mounted, sword clutched in one gloved hand, stared down at Gwaine and Merlin. “First we were assigned to bring a sorcerer into Camelot, now we’re going to escort two of them?”

“Yes.” Gwaine tossed his thick dark hair out of his face so he could meet the man’s eyes.

The other knight pointed with his blade. “That is Morgana Pendragon.”

“The king has been searching for her for months,” Gwaine said. “He’ll be pleased to know where she is and what she’s up to.”

“He’ll be pleased if we bring word of her death.”

Morgana looked at the knight who had spoken, her head tilted to the side and a slight smirk on her lips. “Your blades cannot stop me.”

He paled and his hand gripped his sword hilt more tightly.

“Her fate is the king’s to decide.” Gwaine waved at the knight to stand down, holding his gaze until he sheathed his weapon. “Mount up, all of you.”

There were a few vindictive glares but the soldiers were quickly mounted and ready to leave.

Merlin went to retrieve the packs Morgana had dropped at her feet when she faced the knights. She gave him a simpering smile as he slung the two heaviest over his shoulder.

“Thanks, lover.”

He felt his face grow hot and glanced at Gwaine from the corner of his eye. The knight was looking from one of them to the other, brows raised. Then he merely shook his head and gestured to a sandy-haired youth in a red cloak that Merlin did not recognize. The young man led forward a riderless horse.

“We brought an extra mount.” Gwaine said. “For you. Didn’t know you’d be bringing a guest.”

“I wouldn’t have known that, either, when we parted ways.”

“You certainly don’t make it easy for yourself, do you?”

Nervous laughter clawed up Merlin’s throat at the irony of being finally called back to speak with Arthur and showing up in the company of his worst enemy. “No. Just my luck.”

“What makes you think you can trust her?” Gwaine glared at the witch who returned his look with equal malevolence. “She might have a pretty face and a nice set of –” he shrugged and gave a knowing grin “– but I hope you’re thinking with your head and not other parts of your body. You’re too trusting for your own good.”

The warning was eerily similar to a prophecy the dragon had repeated once and Merlin felt a shiver of self-doubt go down his spine. “I don’t blame you for hating her or being suspicious, but she knows what I’m capable of now and we made a bargain.”

The knight rolled his eyes. “No sense of self-preservation. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Gwaine, whatever happens, just …” Merlin scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“I know mate.” Gwaine nodded at the packs. “We should go. Need a hand with those?”

Merlin shook his head and loaded his belongings onto the horse. He took the reins and swung onto its back, then reached a hand to help Morgana up behind him.

“We won’t make good time with that horse carrying a double load.” Gwaine turned to the sandy-haired youth again whose red cloak seemed too big on his thin frame. “Ride ahead of us. Tell the king we found him, we’ll be back before nightfall, and warn his highness about you-know-who.”

The young man acknowledged Gwaine’s orders with a nod and promptly spurred his horse to gallop in the direction of the citadel. Gwaine followed at a slower pace and Merlin urged his mount to stay close behind.

The other knights formed a rough semi-circle to either side and behind him. They sat stiffly and darted frequent glances at both sorcerers, venomous glares at Morgana and quizzical looks at Merlin. Those who were most familiar with him seemed puzzled but others he barely knew nervously clutched their weapons every time he shifted.

Morgana returned their dark stares in kind, though she made no attempt to hurl anything more threatening than hostile looks.

When they had been riding for close to an hour, Merlin spoke quietly so only she could hear. “If we convince Arthur the law banning magic is wrong and should be changed, you’ll have to give up your claim to the throne.”

“I would do that if I was assured my people will be safe under his rule.”

“Accepting Arthur as the rightful king means accepting Gwen as his queen.”

Her arms tensed around his waist. “Knowing how to sew and make armour hardly qualifies her as a competent ruler. No serving girl can put on a fancy gown, redo her hair, and pass as a noble.”

“I don’t think she has any intention of passing as nobility, that’s why the people love her. She’s one of them.”

“Dressing up a servant as queen will have consequences.”

Merlin wondered if her prophetic dreams had showed a glimpse of Gwen’s future or if it was merely jealousy that chilled Morgana’s voice. “Arthur is a better king with Gwen by his side.”

“You still believe Arthur will listen to you?”

“He’s a fair and just ruler.”

“He’s a hypocrite. He used magic to try to heal his father and executes others who do the same.”

“There have been no executions since Arthur took power.”

“Nothing else has changed since he donned the crown. One chance, Merlin. That’s all he gets from me,” she said under her breath.

“The chance you never gave him before?”

“The chance you never gave me.”

“I’m trusting you now.” He twisted around to look back at her. “Trusting that your concern is for magic and those who wield it, not the crown.”

“And because of that I’m trusting your loyalty to your kin over your loyalty to one man.”

Merlin swallowed and faced forward again. “I know.” He wondered if he could really walk away should Arthur refuse his support, knowing Morgana was still a threat and aware she could find allies among those with magic or other enemies of the kingdom. But what was the point of protecting Arthur if, as ruler, he allowed fear and prejudice to continue controlling his people? How could Arthur be the great king of the prophecies while accepting his father’s lies that magic was evil and dangerous? If Merlin failed to prove magic could be a force for good, then that mythical kingdom would never exist and all those who had put their faith in him would never have their promised freedom.

He still believed Arthur could change hearts and minds if he chose because the people loved him and followed where he led. Uther had used force to turn them against magic, but by example alone Arthur could undo the terror that had been beaten into his subjects. By the same token, he was king and it was his word that made magic illegal. Magic and those who wielded it would be hated and feared as long as Arthur’s laws upheld the ban. It was his kingdom now, and it was his choice.

The mistake Merlin had made in his failure to be honest with Arthur could not be undone. Hopefully their friendship had not been undone, either. All Merlin could do was be truthful and leave the decision to the king. If Arthur, knowing the truth about all Merlin had done, rejected him and the protection of his magic, then he would accept that decision. He would no longer use magic behind Arthur’s back in defiance of the king’s wishes. Which meant that until Arthur accepted him, there would be no place for Merlin in Camelot.

~

“What?” Arthur bit back an expletive.

The face of his newest knight paled and the sandy-haired young man fell back a step from the dais.

The king pressed a hand against his forehead. The queen took his other hand and squeezed it.

“Thank you for bringing us this message so quickly,” she said to the young knight who stood nervously in front of their thrones.

The king was partly relieved to know for certain his half-sister’s whereabouts, but the news of Morgana’s return to Camelot, in Merlin’s company no less, left a sick feeling in his gut. She had caused so much misery and destruction, and it broke his heart every time he looked at her to remember the kind, compassionate woman he had grown up with. Was it magic that had wrought that change in her or was it only fear of rejection and persecution that had twisted into hatred?

“Sire.” Leon arrived slightly out of breath. His boots were covered in mud, his cloak was splattered, and his curly hair was a mess. “I received word that Sir Gwaine found Merlin and they would be here by nightfall. And that,” the knight’s expression was incredulous, “Morgana was with them. Is she a prisoner or …”

“Apparently she was with Merlin when Gwaine located him. No, she’s not a prisoner.” Arthur’s hands fisted and his nails bit into his palms. He looked Leon in the eye. “She has her powers back.”

“There’s nothing left of Helios’s army, or of Cenred’s, and no armed force has gathered anywhere in or near our borders.”

“She can still be a threat,” Arthur said heavily.

Leon’s jaw clenched.

“You and I will ride out to meet them at the western crossroads.”

The king frowned when Leon did not immediately rush to assemble an escort.

“Sire.” The knight’s weathered brow wrinkled under his blond curls. “Perhaps it would be wise to exercise restraint in this situation.”

Arthur huffed out a breath. “Go on. Give me your honest advice.”

“Your life stands between Morgana and the throne. If this is some scheme of hers, it is vital to the kingdom that you’re kept safe.”

The king chafed at the restriction. As prince he had been expected to face whatever danger threatened, but now he was monarch he had to be protected. “What do you suggest?”

“I will take a contingent of knights and meet the party accompanying Morgana and Merlin. If this is a genuine offer of peace, I’ll escort them into the city myself.”

Arthur wanted to ride straight out and confront his friend-turned-sister-turned-mortal-enemy. He wanted to demand answers from his manservant-turned-friend-turned-warlock. He wanted to ask Merlin what he should do. Merlin had always given him honest counsel whether or not he wanted to hear it. He was no boot-licker whatever else was or was not true about him.

The king throttled the urge to rush out immediately to face both sorcerers and forced himself to speak calmly. “Do it then, Sir Leon. I’ll wait in the throne room for word from you.” Arthur nearly choked on the words. “Station guards on the balcony and ready our city’s defenses. Recall the knights’ patrols. Except for the ones you take with you, I want every fighting man on the city walls or here in the citadel.”

Leon bowed his head and left quickly to carry out his orders.

Briefly, Arthur considered summoning his Council, or rather his father’s Council since he had yet to assemble his own group of advisers, but decided against it. If this was war, he would need the advice of his knights, not a group of aged sycophants. If this was a peaceful talk, he wanted to speak to Merlin without their interference and that would be even more important since his former manservant and sorcerer-in-disguise would be accompanied by Camelot’s hated enemy. How Merlin would explain that, Arthur could not begin to imagine, unless he truly had been in league with her all this time.

Arthur was convinced Gaius had been truthful the last time they spoke, which meant either Gaius was unaware of his ward’s true loyalties or the new alliance had been forged during Merlin’s absence. Arthur’s stomach knotted at the thought that his rejection had finally broken Merlin’s allegiance to him. The pain of that would cut worse than being utterly fooled and betrayed all along.

~

Leon’s mount shifted underneath him and he murmured absently to the animal. A score of red-cloaked knights surrounded him at the edge of an expanse of frost-dampened, black stubble. Concealed in the trees at their back were another dozen soldiers armed with crossbows. A horse snorted. Chain mail clinked as a few of the knights shifted to ease the ache of hours sitting motionless.

A dense, black cloud of crows circled in the distance where the sun turned the sky orange. The party led by Gwaine would be visible as they approached through the burnt field where the western road crossed with a road leading north and south.

Riders came into sight outlined by the setting sun. More followed, making a rough semi-circle around three middle riders. A rustle went through the ranks of knights behind Leon. He used a hand to shade his eyes and watched carefully. The lead rider was dressed in chain mail and long, dark hair flapped around his head when a breeze fluttered his red cloak. Gwaine appeared relaxed and Leon let out a breath.

As the other party drew closer, Leon saw Merlin’s distinctive brown jacket and pants, his black hair longer than it had been and a short growth darkening his chin, but otherwise looking very much like Arthur’s affable manservant. Morgana wore an unfamiliar brown woolen cloak with her dark hair tied back in a simple braid. Leon recognized each of the knights escorting them. There was no one in the party who should not be there.

Gwaine pulled up facing Leon and greeted him. The others stopped behind him.

Leon returned the greeting but kept his gaze fixed on Morgana. “Any problems, Sir Gwaine?”

“No. Just your typical mission escorting the two most powerful sorcerers to Camelot, a place where magic is illegal, to have a friendly chat with the king.”

Morgana returned Leon’s stare with equal suspicion. “You’re here to make sure we’re no threat to your precious king.”

“The same king to which you owe your allegiance and loyalty, if you were capable of such emotions,” the knight said.

“The only loyalty I owe is to others of my kind. The people you hunted and killed.”

Leon shook his head sadly. “You know nothing of duty or honour.”

“You know nothing of magic. You cannot hope to understand.” Morgana’s green eyes flared.

He tensed but, instead of launching an immediate attack as he expected, her gaze darted sideways to Merlin. Her lips compressed into a tight line and she turned her head away to stare into the distance.

The hand that had crept closer to the hilt of Leon’s sword moved back to the reins. He met Merlin’s eyes and winced inwardly at the uncertainty in the younger man’s face. “Merlin, it’s good to see you again.”

Merlin blinked and stuttered a reply.

“I know you would never compromise Arthur’s safety. Will the king come to any harm if Morgana accompanies you into Camelot?”

“No. We’re here to talk, I promise. I just want Arthur to listen to me. You have to believe me.”

Leon nodded once. He signalled his men to clear a path and motioned Gwaine to follow him. As he wheeled his mount around to head for Camelot, he saw open-mouthed shock on Merlin’s face. Really, did he think his devotion to the kingdom had gone entirely unnoticed? Having magic had not compromised his well-earned trustworthiness. If Merlin was confident Morgana could be restrained, then the kingdom was safe enough until after this meeting. The rest was up to King Arthur.

~

Preparations made, there was little to do other than wait while the light faded outside the windows and servants began lighting candles and torches. Unable to sit, Arthur paced in front of his empty throne trying to avoid Guinevere’s worried stare.

He paused in front of his wife’s throne. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’d be safer where?”

His gaze scanned the troops posted on the balcony lining one end of the room and the knights stationed at the other end near the doors. “This entire thing may be a ploy of Morgana’s. Perhaps she enchanted Merlin or something.” If they had not been allies all this time.

“Arthur, if this is the end I would far rather be with you than sit waiting for Morgana to find me.”

The king sighed and nodded. He resumed pacing.

Elyan returned with his troop. The knight exchanged a worried glance with his sister and his hand clenched and unclenched the hilt of his sword. “Are we to attempt to capture Morgana on arrival?”

Arthur hesitated, wondering if the kingdom would be safest if they removed the threat his half-sister posed before waiting to find out why she was returning so openly. He scrubbed his hand through his hair again. “No.” He had acted hastily when he ordered Caerleon’s execution, he had acted hastily when he banished Merlin; and this time he intended to move carefully. “Be prepared for anything, but do not take the offensive unless I give the order.”

The knight’s dark brow creased in worry but he nodded and took up a position at the back of the hall. Elyan had told them how Morgana tortured the king’s destination out of his loyal knight after the city fell to Helios’s barbarians. Arthur swallowed a lump of sickness in his gut. Could Merlin have forgotten all that Morgana was responsible for or, like her, was he willing to sacrifice everyone and everything to seize power?

Arthur had given Leon permission to escort both of them into the city if he judged it safe. Which was not an option he would have considered for even an instant if not for Merlin’s presence. Why he trusted his former manservant at all made the throbbing in Arthur’s temples worsen and he resumed his pacing. The kingdom could not afford for him to make another mistake and suffer another betrayal. What did he know to be true about Merlin? What was real and what was an act? Which were lies and which statements had been sincere?

When Arthur looked up at the long row of windows again; they were dark. His thoughts had gone in circles and he was no further ahead. He would have to wait and watch and sort truth from lies in the coming meeting quickly enough to make the right decisions. He would not commit the error of deciding a course of action without having all the facts, not this time.

“Sire.” Leon had returned.

Arthur looked up to see the blond knight step aside and Gwaine stride in behind him. Following the dark-haired knight was … Arthur stopped, swallowed, then turned to seat himself in the throne beside Guinevere, using the moment to settle his rapid heartbeat and churning stomach. When he faced the newcomers, his expression was composed.

Merlin stood in the centre of the room, facing the king.

 “Found him,” Gwaine sang out loudly. He looked around at the solemn expressions of the others in the room, then allowed Leon to tug him toward the back of the room with the other knights.

Arthur’s gaze fixed on Merlin’s unnaturally pale face under an untidy mess of dark hair, a face he had not seen in an eternity. He wore the same red tunic and brown jacket, breeches, and boots but his neck was bare and his jaw was covered with dark stubble. Arthur knew he should speak a greeting but his mind was utterly blank.

A shadow of Merlin’s normally cheerful grin curved his mouth as he stepped forward. “It’s good to see you, Arthur.” The faint grin disappeared as if the younger man had not intended to let those words slip out.

Arthur got up again and walked forward several steps. He paused in the middle of the throne room when he remembered the dozens of eyes fixed on him. “I’m glad we found you.” To his own ears it sounded regal but a slight grin returned to Merlin’s expression.

“How good of you to save us the trouble of demanding an audience with you, dear brother.”

Arthur stiffened and faced his half-sister. Underneath a rough woolen cloak she wore the black dress he had last confronted her in, but her hair was smoothed back away from her face and her expression was not quite as malevolent. At least, he hoped it wasn’t.

He darted a sideways glance at the dark-haired man beside her. “Only you, Merlin, would have the nerve to come back to Camelot with the kingdom’s greatest threat in tow to discuss reconciliation.”

“Well,” Merlin’s head tilted, “it’s your fault I found them. If you hadn’t been uncharacteristically observant and thrown me out, I would never have been wandering around Amata.”

The name of the Sarrum’s territory unleashed an icy curl of dread in Arthur’s chest. There had been rumours recently about turmoil in Amata but factual information about the Sarrum was difficult to obtain because emissaries and spies ended up impaled. “What were you doing there, Merlin? Don’t you understand how dangerous it is?”

“Morgana had been captured and imprisoned by the Sarrum,” Merlin said.

Arthur’s gaze darted to his sister’s face to find her green eyes fixed on him. He scanned her quickly but she had not walked with a limp nor was there any other indication of permanent injury.

“You didn’t know,” she said softly.

He recoiled. “Of course I didn’t know.” He feared he may even have attempted her rescue in spite of everything if word had reached him of her imprisonment by that tyrant. Arthur would never consider an alliance with a man even Uther had feared, although a corner of his mind wanted to know how the Sarrum managed to put his treacherous sister under lock and key. She might have been there indefinitely if not for Merlin. “How did you know she was there? Why were you looking for her?” he asked Merlin. “Wait a minute, what do you mean you found ‘them’?”

Merlin put up a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t know she was there, I was following Aithusa not her, and I didn’t mean to end up in Amata and certainly not in the Sarrum’s dungeon. It just happened.”

Gwen gasped.

Arthur simply stared. The idiot part of Merlin’s character had clearly not been an act, either. “You accidentally ended up in the dungeon of man who hates sorcery more than my father?” The danger Merlin had been in hit Arthur with the force of a blow to the chest. “You could have been …” _Killed_ did not cover it. Tortured, most likely. Tortured to death eventually.

“Would you have cared?” The doubt in Merlin’s eyes was worse than anger would have been.

“Yes.” Before Merlin had a chance to make any response to that admission, Arthur continued his questioning. “Who is Aithusa?”

The nervous expression in Merlin’s eyes warned Arthur he would not like the answer.

“My dragon,” Morgana said.

Merlin turned to her with raised brows. “ _Your_ dragon? I hatched her.”

Morgana crossed her arms and stared him down.

“She’s attached to you, I admit, but she’s mine, too,” Merlin said.

Arthur looked from one to the other. He sorted through the confessions Merlin had made at his trial. “The dragon’s egg you hatched is now Morgana’s dragon?”

“Not exactly Morgana’s dragon; she’s our dragon. Not that we own her like a pet or anything because she’s a free creature –”

The pounding in Arthur’s temples increased tenfold. “Where is this creature now?”

“I sent her back to Ki … the Great Dragon.”

The king wanted to press his forehead into his palms. He clenched his teeth and ignored the pain behind his temples. “So both monsters are together somewhere in my kingdom.”

Merlin frowned. “They are not monsters.”

“They are creatures of magic.”

“Yes, and so am I.”

Arthur’s breath caught as Merlin seemed to pull away and grow taller in front of his eyes. Gone was any semblance of deference. His voice sounded different, too; stronger. Arthur was abruptly conscious of why they were having this conversation and what had led to it: Merlin had magic. Yet rather than plead for leniency and understanding, his former servant seemed to size him up and find him wanting.

The king glanced around the huge chamber. Every eye in the room was fixed on them. He put one hand on Merlin’s sleeve and drew him a little further away. He lowered his voice and looked his erstwhile friend in the eye. “Why did you never tell me?”

A pained expression crossed the sorcerer’s face. “I was afraid.”

“Did you think I would chop your head off?”

“Uther would have. I couldn’t make you choose between your father and me. Then, when you were convinced I caused his death, it made everything worse instead of better. You would have been in a terrible position.”

“That’s what worried you?”

“You didn’t deserve another betrayal.” Merlin’s chin dropped. “I know I deceived you the same way Agravaine did –”

“You are nothing like my treacherous uncle.” As soon as the words were out, Arthur knew how true they were. “I was wrong to throw you out without really listening to what you had to say.”

Merlin’s shocked expression made him grit his teeth. It was not the first time he had admitted to being wrong. “I’m willing to listen now.”

“I’m sorry I never told you the truth. I wanted to, so many times, but the longer I waited the harder it got to explain.”

Wordlessly, Arthur gestured at him to continue.

Merlin took a deep breath. “I was told that you and I together had a great destiny. That you were the Once and Future King who will unite the land of Albion but you needed me to succeed. I didn’t believe the prophecy at first because I thought you were an idiot, but then I saw how brave you were despite your arrogance. The more I got to know you, the more I saw the great king I knew you would become. Not just because you were a great warrior, but because you were noble and true-hearted. Protecting you wasn’t a duty anymore; I wanted to keep you safe.”

Arthur recalled all the moments when he felt as if someone was watching over him, keeping him from harm. The idea that person was Merlin, though, still felt odd. “I thought I knew you.”

“I wanted you to see me for who I really am. It just never felt like the right time to confess.”

“I trusted you, but you didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not true. I kept my secret because it was important that I stay by your side.”

“So when I became king you could assume a position of power?”

Merlin shook his head. “I never wanted to rule. That’s your job, not mine.”

“What’s your job?”

“To protect you and to help you.”

“Why?”

“Because of who you are. There will never be another like you, Arthur. I lied about the magic but that’s all. Everything else I told you as I watched you grow into the king I knew you would become, all that was true. I’m your friend and I don’t want to lose you.”

At the sincerity in the sorcerer’s blue eyes, warmth expanded inside Arthur. It was an incredible relief to know Merlin’s friendship had been real. “I was too hasty before. I want you to stay here in Camelot. Would you refrain from using magic?” Once things were back to normal, they could discuss sorcery and how it affected those who used it. Clearly Merlin had not been twisted the same way Morgana had.

The wide smile that had begun to light up Merlin’s face was abruptly doused.

“At least until –”

Merlin shook his head. “A few weeks ago it would have been enough that you wanted me to stay. I would even have tried to do as you ask. But now, if there is no place for magic in this kingdom, Arthur, there is no place for me.” He stepped away to stand next to Morgana.

The king’s previous uncertainty bubbled up again. “Magic is illegal in Camelot.”

Arthur could feel Morgana’s icy stare like daggers pricking him but there was no anger in Merlin’s eyes, only a mixture of hope and regret.

“You can change that, Arthur.”

“At what cost to the kingdom?”

“Less than the cost of continuing Uther’s vendetta.” Merlin shook his head sadly. “I saw a young woman flee whiles rocks were hurled at her for a tattoo on her arm. I met a family forced to run and then run again until the safest place for them was with a group of outlaws. I saw fear run so deep in a village they would turn on their own. Your people live in fear and fear turns to violence far too often. It cost a little girl her life.”

 “Fear that is justified protects us. I’ve seen magic used to strike at Camelot repeatedly.” Arthur sent an accusatory glare at Morgana.

“Magic has saved this kingdom – and you – more times than you will ever know.” Merlin’s blue eyes were bright with intensity. “If you can’t accept magic,” his throat contracted as he swallowed, “then you can’t accept me and I won’t be here to protect you or Camelot.”

Arthur stiffened. “Is that a threat?”

Merlin shook his head. “It’s the truth. I can’t hide anymore and I don’t want to. I want to stay here, but I won’t return until I can be who I really am.”

The stillness in the room felt like a physical weight on Arthur’s shoulders. He glanced from Merlin to Morgana and back. “Is this why you brought Morgana? If I don’t change the law to accommodate you, you’ll allow her to attack again?”

“I’m here because Merlin convinced me to give you a chance, Arthur.”

He was surprised to see Morgana was no longer glaring at him. There was so much unsaid between them; they had barely spoken since she revealed her parentage and her true loyalties. He had so many questions but he had no idea if he could trust her answers. The king looked at Merlin again. “Why didn’t you tell me about Morgana sooner? About her magic and her plots? Was it for my protection or hers?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me, Arthur.”

“Yes, I would.”

“No, Arthur, you wouldn’t,” Morgana said. “You would have believed me. And if you had any doubts, our dear father would have utterly ignored them.”

Regret pounded a spike into the pain behind his temples. Merlin had warned him about Agravaine and he had utterly dismissed the accusation. How much worse would his rejection have been if Merlin had dared to accuse Morgana of plotting against him?

He regarded his sister again. There was no compassion or warmth in her expression, nor was there disgust or hatred, only a disinterested honesty.

“You accused me of blaming you for your father’s sins.” Her green eyes were intense and he was shocked at how much her expression mirrored Merlin’s when he had thought them complete opposites. “Perhaps I was too quick to believe your attitude to magic could never change. I was convinced the only way to be free was to take away your crown. I hope you prove me wrong.”

“You’re king now, these are your laws,” Merlin said. “You have the power to make life better for your people, all your people.”

Arthur blinked at the forcefulness of the sorcerer’s voice. It was not the lilting tones of his clumsy but loyal manservant, it was a deeper timbre, profound and powerful. Had Merlin lived with the same fears that so embittered Morgana: fear of execution or rejection? Had he protected Arthur, protected the kingdom, while smiling through derisive comments about sorcerers that must have stung like daggers in his back? Every cutting remark Arthur had made sliced at his conscience now. Small wonder Merlin had turned to Morgana.

But he was not sure he could live up to what that powerful voice was asking of him, even if he chose to. “I can change the law, I cannot tell people what to think. You believe things will be different because I say so?”

“Yes, I do. You’re not just a king, you’re a leader and the people love you. If you tell them magic is not to be hated and feared, they’ll trust you. In time, things will be different.”

Arthur searched his former servant’s face. “This is what you wanted all along.”

“I believed in you. I knew you would do what’s right.”

“How do I know what’s right?”

“You know in your heart.” To Arthur’s surprise, Merlin gave him a wide grin. “There is no evil in sorcery, only in the minds of men.”

As always in his darkest hours, when the fate of the kingdom rested on his shoulders and self-doubt consumed him, Arthur was transfixed by the depth of wisdom in the younger man. Except this time he understood the aura of power radiating from someone seemingly so naïve. _One day you will learn, Arthur. One day you will understand...just how much they've done for you_. That strength had been redirected from Arthur to something bigger, something more. It was not for Merlin’s personal benefit, he had proved his selflessness too often to be an act. What he was asking was not for himself but because he believed lifting the ban on magic was the right thing to do. And he knew and understood far more about sorcery than Arthur.

The king tore his gaze away from Merlin’s to look around at the faces of all the people waiting on his decision. He glanced back toward Guinevere who watched him intently, her brow furrowed in the adorable way she had when she was thinking hard. Morgana seemed to be hanging on his answer as well, though he was painfully aware how easily she could fool him.

He looked back and forth between Merlin and Morgana. The kingdom’s greatest threat and its – apparently – greatest protector. Nothing about magic was as simple as his father had led him to believe or as straightforward as the laws that condemned everyone who touched it. Intolerance, prejudice, misunderstanding, and fear were far more perilous.

Abruptly, he turned to Leon.

The knight stood to attention. “Yes, Sire?”

“Bring me –”

“This?” Leon reached under his cloak and drew out a sword with his left hand. He laid it across his palms and held it out.

Merlin gasped and sent Leon a grateful look.

The gold in the hilt shone and the blade glowed faintly with an inner light.

Morgana’s forehead wrinkled as she stared from the sword to Merlin and back.

“Yes, that.” The king gave Leon a hard look which his knight returned blandly.

Merlin appeared to be holding his breath, his gaze darting between the blade and the king.

Slowly, Arthur stretched a hand toward the magical sword, remembering the feel of it in his fingers as it slid from the stone and how sunlight had been drawn to the flashing blade when he held it above his head. His thumb caressed the hilt as his hand closed around it again. It fit his palm as if it had been formed in his grip, perfectly balanced.

Wrapping both hands around the hilt, Arthur held the sword in front of himself, its tip pointed at the high ceiling of the enormous throne room. Every eye in the room was on him but it was Merlin’s gaze he met. So many times he had trusted the wrong people, misjudged them when he had wanted to be a wise, discerning ruler as well as a respected warrior. Merlin had used this sword to show him he could be that wise king and he would prove he deserved Merlin’s faith.

“I understand more about why my father hated magic and why he was wrong to persecute those who used it. I may not know everything you’ve done, but I realize I owe you a debt of gratitude. I’m sorry it took so long to see the truth.”

“That was my fault,” Merlin said. “I should have told you sooner.”

“I should have seen …” Arthur shook his head. Regrets were pointless unless you intended to change things, make things right. “As of this moment, sorcery is no longer a crime in Camelot unless it is used maliciously and I will do everything within my power to show magic itself is not to be hated or feared.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” Merlin’s eyes were moist.

Arthur gritted his teeth, hoping the idiot would not cry, and swallowed hard to rid himself of a lump in his throat. He looked toward his sister.

Merlin gave her a pointed glance as well. “You promised, Morgana.”

“How do I know he’ll keep his word?”

Though she was hardly in a position to accuse anyone else of falsehood, Arthur bit back his pride and raised his voice, his gaze circling the room. “In front of all these witnesses, the laws of Camelot have been changed. It is no longer a crime simply to have magic or use it.” He met her eyes. “And in front of these witnesses, I want you to relinquish any claim you have to the crown.”

Morgana lifted her chin and gazed at him searchingly for a long moment. “You grew up. You’ll be a better king than Uther was.” Then her glance slid sideways to Guinevere on her throne and her lips tightened but she nodded. “I forfeit the name Pendragon and any claim to the throne of Camelot.” She bowed her head. “My lord.”

Arthur hoped he was not dreaming and he sincerely hoped she meant what she said. It would be easier and safer than fighting her relentless battles. The kingdom had enough enemies, any of whom would be happy to find a powerful sorceress with a claim to the crown on their side.

The queen stood and approached the group in the middle of the throne room, striding gracefully toward them in a long gown of Camelot red. A tiara of red stones interwoven with gold braid circled her head and came to a point above her brow.

“My lady.” Morgana’s lips were tight. She made no effort to bow her head.

“Morgana.” Guinevere held her chin high.

From his sister’s expression, she had not failed to note the lack of a title in the queen’s greeting. He tried to keep himself between them though he knew how ineffective he would be as a shield for his wife if Morgana chose to attack.

“Such a shame, it seems I missed the coronation,” Morgana said. “But then, I assume that few with royal blood attended this particular ceremony.” She looked at Arthur regretfully. “Your marriage could have formed an alliance with another kingdom, instead you insulted every noble family in the Five Kingdoms and beyond by marrying a serving girl. One day it will bring Camelot down.”

Arthur knew her words were only resentment and jealousy but he frowned when Merlin tensed at her pronouncement.

Fury was etched in Elyan’s expression and he half-drew his sword before Leon’s hand clamped on his arm. Gwaine stepped closer to his left.

Morgana’s eyes slid to Gwen. “When that happens, remember that I tried to stop you from committing such a folly.”

Beside him, Gwen pressed forward, eyes narrowed on Morgana’s face.

“You didn’t keep the bracelet?” Morgana smirked as she glanced at Gwen’s wrist. “I made it especially for you.”

Merlin drew in a sharp breath.

Arthur was confused when the blood drained from Guinevere’s face and her eyes widened. Then she pushed past him and slapped Morgana. His grip tightened on the sword he held, but his sister only brushed her fingers across her cheek, the smirk still on her face.

“Do you know the pain you caused?” Gwen was trembling.

“You were a competent servant, Gwen, but you know nothing about being a queen.” Morgana drew herself up and looked down at the slightly shorter woman. “The nobility will never accept you.”

Elyan’s expression was livid. He was only prevented from foolishly striking at the sorceress by Leon and Gwaine each grabbing one of his arms, though Gwaine seemed inclined to help rather than hinder his fellow knight.

“Nevertheless, Guinevere is my wife and my queen,” Arthur said. “I am sorry, Morgana. Sorry I didn’t recognize your pain and fear, sorry you felt driven to usurp the throne. I regret the loss of our friendship.” He was gratified by the flicker of sympathy in her green eyes. “But I cannot dismiss the treason you committed and the lives of my people that have been lost.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said softly.

The king held up a hand to forestall whatever the sorcerer was going to say. “If you honour your word to relinquish any claim to Camelot, I will keep the peace between us but you cannot stay in my kingdom.”

Morgana held his gaze without flinching as she gave a brief nod. “I will not break the peace unless you resume the persecution of my kind.”

When Morgana held out one arm he felt as if a storm had been threatening and instead of thunder and lightning, one shaft of sunlight pierced through the black clouds.

“I understand.” Arthur’s thumb brushed against the engraving on the hilt of the sword. This was a time to set aside war and choose peace. He grasped her arm,.

Morgana turned without speaking and left the throne room. The knights watched her warily as they parted to let her pass.

“Sire,” Leon said. “Do we let her go?”

Arthur gave a sharp nod. “I don’t think you could stop her anyway.”

“I’m willing to try,” Gwaine said under his breath.

“Sire.” Elyan stepped forward, his face hard. “She’s guilty of treason. She tried to kill Gwen.” His hand was clenched tightly on his sword hilt.

“Revenge and a desire to punish is what turned her into the person she is.” Her quest for vengeance, her sister’s, Uther’s, no good had come from any of it.

“You’re right to end it, Arthur.” Guinevere slipped her right hand in his left and gripped it tightly.

The king looked at Merlin. “What about a bracelet Morgana made for Guinevere?”

Merlin turned to Gwen. “I didn’t know about that part.”

She stared down at the floor. “Lancelot gave it to me; he said it had been a gift from Madhavi people and would bring me good fortune. He seemed so sincere. I shouldn’t have trusted him.”

“It wasn’t him, Gwen,” Merlin said. “It wasn’t Lancelot who came back from the dead.”

Arthur frowned. “What do you know about that?”

“I know Morgana conjured his shade, but I thought it intended to harm Arthur. By the time I figured out what her plan really was, it was too late to stop the shade from causing trouble between you two. Agravaine was probably involved, too.”

Arthur was tight-lipped. “I’m sure he was.” Dear gods, was there no limit to his ignorance? She had blamed herself; Guinevere, the least blameless person among the lot of them, and he had heaped more guilt on her head and thrown her out of her home. Then he had repeated his error by banishing Merlin. How could he ever make it up to them both?

“It was all Morgana’s doing, then, wasn’t it?” Gwen raised her eyes to meet Merlin’s gaze. “The shade, the way I was drawn to him, the meeting that night and Arthur walking in? Every bit of it was contrived to stop my marriage to Arthur?”

“Yes.”

“When she couldn’t get rid of me, she would have killed me. I know she’s tried to kill Arthur; under her compulsion you nearly killed him for her.”

“What?” Arthur stared at them in shock.

Merlin gave him a guilty glance and stared at his hands.

Gwen kept her gaze on the warlock. “How can you forgive her, Merlin, after everything she’s done?”

He sighed. “Because I understand why she did what she did. She cared about others with magic. She made mistakes but inside she’s still the same person you grew up with.”

The king’s blue gaze was piercing. “That won’t stop me from eliminating her if she remains a threat to my kingdom. Could you kill her?”

The blood drained from Merlin’s face. “I … probably not.”

“Can you promise she will not attack Camelot again or make any attempt on my life or Guinevere’s?”

“Morgana kept her word to me and I believe she’ll keep her word to you.”

“Do I want to know the extent of your relationship with her?”

“Probably not.” Merlin glanced toward the door.

Arthur’s heart clenched at the regret and longing in his friend’s expression. If he decided Merlin could stay in Camelot, he assumed Merlin would not hesitate. Did he want to leave? Now, when they had finally reconciled? “Do you want to go with her?”

Merlin turned to look him in the eye. “My place is with you, Arthur, for as long as you need me.”

It was _that_ voice again, the voice that had never belonged to an inept, gangly servant. The calm, steady voice when rage or fear pounded in Arthur’s ears, the voice of caution when recklessness pulled him into danger, the voice of wisdom whose depths he was only beginning to imagine. While his pride protested that the king needed no one, could not afford the luxury of needing anyone, it was a comfort to know Merlin stood by him. His friend. Not his only friend, but his truest. “I meant it.”

The brow under his dark fringe of hair wrinkled as Merlin tipped his head to the side. “What?”

“I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

A wide grin split the younger man’s face. Arthur braced himself in case he went for a hug, but his gaze slipped back to where Morgana had disappeared.

“Merlin.” Arthur waited until the dark-haired man faced him. “If you want to say goodbye, go do so.”

The sorcerer cocked his head in that annoying way he had. “I thought we had a lot to talk about.”

“Oh, we do, but it can wait until you say farewell to Morgana.”

“Arthur, I swear I never aided her in any of her attempts to take the throne.”

“I know, Merlin. I trust you.”

The teary-eyed look was back and Arthur gestured toward the door. “You better hurry if you want to catch her.”

For a moment, Merlin seemed torn between going for a hug, which made Arthur’s gut tighten, and following Morgana. With a grin that made Arthur suspect Merlin had seen him flinch, the sorcerer raced out of the room.

Arthur held the sword up in front of his face again and ran one finger down the writing. _Take me up_.

“It’s a beautiful weapon,” Leon said. “Almost perfect balance. The blacksmith who made it was talented.”

Elyan gasped and stepped closer to peer at the sword. He looked questioningly at Gwen and she nodded in response.

 Arthur tore his eyes away from the blade. “Leon, see that the Council is assembled tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“No, wait.” The king looked around. “Gwaine, Elyan, Ranulf, I want you to assemble in the Council chamber tomorrow morning. Advise Percival that he’s to join us. Leon, I want you there as well and Sir Ector. Tell the others of my father’s council they are released from the onerous duty of serving as my advisors and are free to return to their own estates. Make certain Merlin is with us tomorrow, too. Guinevere.” He was momentarily taken aback by how bright her brown eyes were. “There must be appropriate clothing somewhere that can be delivered to Merlin by the morning. I don’t want him sitting on my Council in one of those wrinkled tunics and mended breeches.”

“I’ll take care of it.” 

His breath caught at the beauty of her smile. “How can you forgive me for sending you away when you were entirely innocent, you and Lancelot both?”

“You were deceived, that much wasn’t your fault. As for sending me away, I forgive you because I love you.” Her kiss was the sweetest they had shared.

~

Merlin caught sight of Morgana at the foot of the palace steps where she had stopped to pull up the hood of her brown cloak to hide her features. Her head was tilted toward the night sky. She did not turn when he descended the stairs and halted a few steps behind her.

“You got what you wanted,” she said.

“I thought returning magic to the kingdom was what we both wanted.”

“Yes. But I always thought I would play a part in it.”

“You did.”

She sighed. “You were right about Arthur.”

“You were right, too. Had I waited and said nothing, nothing would have changed.” He reached out to lay one hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to go. There must be some way you can remain in Camelot.” He had abandoned her once to her fears and nothing good had come of it.

Morgana stiffened. “So I can see my maidservant sit on the throne I expected would be mine? I have no place among people who love Arthur as their king and gave me nothing but defiance.”

“Perhaps in time –”

“No. There’s no future for me here. Once, I thought I would marry Arthur and be queen. Then, I thought I would liberate the kingdom and bring back the Old Ways.” She glanced around the night-darkened courtyard before she turned to face him. “But the Old Ways will not return to Camelot; Arthur will usher in a new age. My destiny lies along a different path.”

Since his arrival in Camelot, Morgana had consumed much of his thoughts, first as the untouchable King’s ward and then as a formidable foe. Now, emptiness opened up at the thought of her total absence. “This is your home.” She had been familiar with the sprawling citadel, the labyrinth of the lower town, and the multitude of hunting trails before he had set foot in the kingdom. Partly, it was his fault she had turned her back on it.

She shook her head. “It was my home once, for a little while, but it isn’t now. It hasn’t been home for a long time. I don’t belong here.” Light from the nearly full moon illuminated her upturned face.

He wanted to touch her again, to hold her and kiss her, but he held back. “Where are you going?”

“Despite Arthur’s promise, after a generation of Uther’s rule it will be awhile before people in Camelot accept that magic is not evil and dangerous. I want to create a safe place for our kin to study and practice and follow the ways of the Old Religion, a place I can help people like me.”

“I understand.” Morgana was destined for greater things than to stand in Arthur’s shadow, or his own.

She smiled. “I know.”

“The Isle of the Blessed,” he guessed.

“It will be the centre of learning and worship for the Old Ways. I’ll be with people who know what it’s like to have magic in their veins, scratching to get out when they try to ignore it, scaring them with its power when it overflows. I can teach them and I can learn from them. So much knowledge has been scattered. If we have a place to gather together we can begin to reassemble what has been lost.”

“I promised you wouldn’t be alone.”

She raised one dark brown and tilted her head. “I don’t expect to be alone for long.”

Whose company was she planning to share? Did she intend to invite someone into her bed?

Merlin did not realize he had stepped closer until she lifted her chin and gave him a challenging stare. With his extra height and being one step higher she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes but he refused to back away.

The hood of her cloak slid back from her head and in the moonlight her hair was as black as a raven’s wing. Morgana’s lips curved up. “I’m sure Aithusa will join me.”

“Oh.” The knowing light in her green eyes made it pointless to deny his bout of jealousy. He slipped his arms around her. “I don’t want to be alone again, either.”

“Come with me, then. The Isle will be beautiful once more, a place of magic.”

He imagined living in a place where everyone shared magic every day in even the tiniest things. She was right, it would be some time before his kin enjoyed that freedom in Camelot. But that was why he had to stay.

“My place is here. There will be a lot of work to make real lasting change in Camelot and Arthur knows nothing of magic. It’s not a choice between you and him, it’s my duty to the kingdom.”

“Yes, you made that choice a long time ago.”

He sucked in a breath at the image of her clutching her throat, trying to draw breath.

“I understand.” Morgana reached up to lay a hand on his cheek.

Merlin desperately hoped that meant she forgave him.

Her thumb brushed his cheekbone. “Finally you can be married and have children.”

“I would only marry for love.” He pulled her closer and put his lips to her ear. “Marriage doesn’t have to mean you give up your freedom.”

“Not for a man, no. Not for commoners, either, I think. It’s noblewomen who have to be carefully guarded so their highborn husbands have legitimate heirs. Companionship is for lovers, not spouses.” Her fingertips brushed the back of his neck. “Arthur should have understood that. He’s the one who has to produce an heir to keep his kingdom intact. That’s why his choice of wife was so important; her children will have a claim to the throne.”

“Gwen and Arthur love each other.”

“Everyone loves Gwen. Her father doted on her, you and that knight were willing to die for her, Arthur would have given up his kingdom for her. No man was ever going to love me that way.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Merlin leaned down to rest his forehead against hers.

She caught her breath.

“Will you really be all right?”

“I can survive a few nightmares.” Her hands slid up his back under his jacket.

He cupped her face, his fingers tangling in her hair. His eyes closed and he felt her lips on his before a shocked exclamation jerked him back.

“Merlin!” Gaius stood on the stairs, staring at him. His bag was slung over one shoulder. The old man’s eyes went from Merlin to Morgana and back again.

One eyebrow ascended in a way that made Merlin’s insides clench and sent a rush of explanations tripping over themselves and tangling his tongue. He pulled away from Morgana but kept one arm around her shoulders.

“Merlin,” Gaius repeated more calmly. “My lady.”

Morgana’s eyes raked down his form and he folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes to hide the thinness of his arms. She took a deliberate step toward him and Merlin’s arm dropped to his side. His glance darted between the two of them.

“My old friend.” She took another step toward the physician, head cocked. “All the while you lied to me, drugged me, and tried to prevent me from understanding my own powers you were tutoring Merlin. Teaching him. Guiding him.”

The physician flinched at her icy tone but met her eyes. “I was trying to protect you both.”

“Trying to protect your position in Uther’s court.”

Gaius lifted his chin and stood his ground. “I did what I thought best for everyone.”

Morgana’s eyes flicked to Merlin and back. “You told him to hide the truth from me.” Her lips tightened at the old man’s wince. “Did you encourage him to deceive Arthur, too?”

“I may have been overly cautious but I never meant for you to suffer, Morgana.”

“You did little enough to prevent it.”

Merlin tentatively laid a hand on her arm. “Morgana.”

She turned her back on the physician, then tugged her cloak tighter. “Goodbye, Merlin. You know where to find me.”

Without acknowledging Gaius further, she strode across the darkened courtyard and through the stone archway.

As soon she disappeared from sight, Merlin felt a gnarled hand brush the hair away from his nape. “Hey.”

“Just checking.” Gaius let the hair fall back to cover his neck.

Merlin reached up and rubbed the tiny scar. “I’m not enchanted or anything.”

“Then do you want to explain what on earth you were just doing?”

“No.”

For a moment they stared at each other before a wide smile stretched Gaius’s thin lips and Merlin felt an answering grin split his face. The old man opened his arms and Merlin embraced him.

“It’s good to see you again, Gaius.”

“It is good to have you home, my boy.” Gaius stepped back and held him at arm’s length. “Is everything all right between you and Arthur?”

“He trusts me again. The rest we’ll work out.” The grin widened. “He promised magic would no longer be illegal.”

“I knew you would do it.”

Merlin found himself wrapped in another hug, one surprisingly strong for how frail the old physician looked.

“I have a pot of stew on the stove.”

Merlin heard his stomach growl. “I could eat.”

“I’m sure you could. Once you’re fed you can tell me everything that’s happened since you left Camelot. When did you get here? I heard Arthur sent out search parties but no one told me you had been found.”

As they walked, Merlin explained what had happened since he and Gwaine parted ways. He had just recounted the little girl’s story of a white dragon when they reached the physician’s chamber and pushed open the door to find the queen standing in the middle of the workroom.

“Your highness.” Gaius gave a respectful bow.

“Gwen.” Merlin was surprised at her presence.

“Merlin. I wanted to see that you got those,” she gestured at a suit of clothes laid out on one work table, “and let you know you’re to attend Arthur in the council chamber tomorrow morning.”

He stared at her open-mouthed, his temper rising. “It was too much to hope I could have one day off after –”

“Merlin.” Gwen’s eyes were sparkling. “You are to attend as one of the Council.”

He blinked. “I’m what?”

“You are, after all, the king’s most trusted adviser and friend.”

It wasn’t like Gwen to play practical jokes but she did have a sense of humour. “Who said that?”

“That you’re his most trusted adviser and friend? I did, just now, and we all know it’s true. That you’re to be on the king’s Privy Council, Arthur said that in the throne room after you left.”

“Was he joking?”

“No, Merlin, he wasn’t. Gaius, please sit down.”

The physician gratefully sank into his chair and Merlin frowned at how the well-lit chamber showed new wrinkles in the lined face. But Gaius’s proud smile erased the fatigue Merlin thought he had glimpsed.

Merlin examined the dark blue doublet with silver fastenings and black cloak on the table. “Thank you, Gwen.”

“You’re welcome.” Her smile faded as she stood unmoving in the middle of the room.

Merlin felt an icy fist squeeze his heart when he realized she was nervous about approaching him. He stepped closer and held out a hand. “Gwen?”

“Oh, Merlin.” She ignored his hand and put both arms around him, squeezing tightly.

He hugged her back.

Finally she released him and took one step back. “I’m glad you’re all right. You are all right, aren’t you?” She sent a worried glance toward Gaius.

“I’m fine. Gaius already checked for a Fomorroh so you don’t need to look for a pot or anything else heavy and painful.” He rubbed the back of his head.

Her eyes searched his face. “Then why?”

Merlin put his hands on her shoulders and held her gaze. “It was like I said, I found her by accident and she needed help. I couldn’t leave her in the Sarrum’s living grave and you wouldn’t have either.”

The physician flinched. “The Sarrum? Merlin, have a care for my heart.”

“Sorry, Gaius. I meant to tell you everything at dinner.” The old man’s face did not appear to be more grey than usual so Merlin returned his attention to Gwen. “Anyway, Morgana and I reached a truce after she found out I had magic.”

“She didn’t know, then?” Gwen asked, a handful of her deep red skirt twisted in her hand.

“No, she didn’t know. I didn’t tell anyone, Gwen, I couldn’t.”

“Lancelot knew.”

“He found out, I didn’t tell him.”

“Why didn’t you trust me, Merlin? You must have known I would have protected you with my life.”

“Because that’s what it would have cost, Gwen. It would have meant your life if Uther even suspected you knew.” He held his breath as he waited for a sign of understanding.

“But after Uther’s death, I would have been safe under Arthur’s rule, yet you never said a word. I could have helped you then, you know.” Moisture glittered in her brown eyes.

“I am so sorry, Gwen. Arthur had to be the first one to know and the time was never right. There was always one excuse or another. I was a coward.”

She shook her head. “You are not. I admired your bravery from that very first day, you know.” She gave him a shy smile. “And when I heard how you burst into the Council room and claimed to be a sorcerer to save me, I couldn’t believe your courage. But it wasn’t for me at all, was it? You were being honest that day.”

“I was being honest but it was for you, Gwen. I healed your father because I knew how much you loved him.”

“Was it real, then? Were we friends? You weren’t using me to get to Arthur?”

The hesitation in her expression cut at his heart. “No, Gwen, I swear. I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt how much I treasure our friendship.”

Her face cleared. “I was wrong to doubt you. Please forgive me.”

“I forgive you if you forgive me.”

She gave him the first real smile he had seen from her since that day in the Council chamber when he confessed to having magic. “Gladly.” She took his hands from her shoulders and squeezed them in hers. She looked back at Gaius. “Good night.”

“Good night, my lady,” the physician.

“Merlin, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Gwen. Thank you for bringing the clothes.”

“You’re welcome.”

After the queen left, Merlin collected two bowls and filled them with stew. He brought one to Gaius and sat down on the bench opposite the old man. He intended to fill in his guardian on everything else that had happened since they parted but his spoon was scraping up the last bit of stew in his bowl before he realized how hungry he had been. He glanced up guiltily to see Gaius watching him with a small smile, his own stew barely touched.

“Help yourself. There’s more.”

When Merlin had refilled his bowl and sat down again he ate more slowly.

“Morgana knows about your magic?”

Merlin looked up quickly, met the worried expression in Gaius’s tired face, and nodded.

“Is that all she found out?”

“No. She knows, Gaius, about Emrys. It will be all right, I promise.”

The old man closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Merlin grinned. “Don’t I always?”


	11. Moving On

Merlin shifted nervously in his chair and twitched his shoulders beneath the unfamiliar cloth of his new clothes. Beside him, Arthur sent him a quelling stare. From Arthur’s other side at the head of the long council table, Gwen smiled reassuringly before she shrugged her shoulders under her blue satin gown. Merlin ignored Arthur and grinned back at Gwen.

The king rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the knights taking their seats along the table’s length. All except Percival had witnessed Arthur’s vow the previous evening and many greeted Merlin cordially. The elderly Sir Ector sent him a searching glance but took his place without speaking.

Most of the knights were familiar with the council chamber but none except Leon and Ector had ever sat at the table. All were unusually silent and exchanged uncertain glances. Elyan was about to sit beside Gwen when he froze and looked questioningly at Leon. The senior knight, who could have claimed a spot nearest the king, smiled slightly and waved the younger man to relax. Leon seated himself halfway down the table. Gwaine dropped into the chair beside Merlin and rocked it back on two legs. Merlin gave an inner sigh of relief when his friend refrained from propping his feet on the tabletop.

Arthur waited until they were all seated, then drew breath to address the gathering. Before he could begin, he was interrupted by raised voices at the door to the chamber. A portly man in a rich green cloak was being prevented by the guards from entering the council chamber.

Aguisel’s pinched face was red under his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “Sire, I must protest being summarily dismissed from your Council. Your father considered me a valued adviser and a good friend and yet you have chosen to forego my experience and loyalty for a bunch of soldiers who are better suited to defend the city than govern it.” The man’s gaze landed on Merlin and his face turned from red to purple. “Uther would be appalled at how you have chosen to rule his kingdom.”

“My kingdom.” Arthur stood and gazed calmly at the outraged noble. “My father would want me to express his appreciation for your years of faithful service and wish you well in your future endeavours.” He gestured at the guards to escort Aguisel out of the room and resumed his seat.

Aguisel made a few more irate protests but the sounds faded as the former Councillor was ushered away. Merlin squirmed uncomfortably.

Gwaine elbowed him in the ribs. “It’s about time you took your rightful place here,” the knight muttered loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Yes,” Arthur agreed.

The king’s steady blue gaze held Merlin’s. He stopped squirming and sat straighter as warmth uncurled in his chest.

King Arthur looked up and down the row of faces, every eye fixed on their monarch, including Gwen’s. “All of you have served me honourably and well. Once, many of you joined me at a round table that belonged to the ancient kings of Camelot, a tradition that emphasized equality in all things. I took my place among their ranks one year ago, and now I intend to revive that ancient tradition. I’m having that ancient table relocated to the citadel and I hope you will all join me around it as my Privy Council. I value your judgement and I treasure your loyalty. I know you will serve Camelot well.”

There was a round of cheers and applause which Merlin joined wholeheartedly.

The celebratory mood lasted even through the ensuing discussion on the truce with Morgana. Percival grew still at the mention of her name and shot a piercing glance toward Merlin. Several knights remained tight-lipped at Arthur’s acceptance of Morgana’s truce, Percival and Gwaine among them, but most were relieved to know the threat of further invasions was averted. The king had sent her a horse and arranged for an escort which she disdainfully refused. They had followed her at a discreet distance and reported she had safely reached the Isle of the Blessed.

Merlin erased any evidence of loneliness from his expression when the king turned to him.

“We’re going to face a good deal of outrage, confusion, and resistance to my acceptance of magic and my appointment of a sorcerer to my court.” Arthur’s blue eyes held Merlin’s steadily. “People need to know about you and everything you’ve done to keep them safe all these years.”

Merlin nodded without speaking.

“We’ll also need your guidance on what sorcery is dangerous and what is acceptable. Gaius has a good deal of knowledge and you can consult with him whenever you need, but I’ll rely on you to handle events on a daily basis. Also to journey with me throughout the kingdom when needed.”

It was a task Merlin had anticipated and he looked forward to the duty with more enthusiasm than trepidation. As Arthur said, it would not be easy but he had no doubt things would finally begin to change.

The meeting turned to a discussion of magic. Percival was given a quick summary and of the previous night and then Arthur turned to Merlin.

“Morgana’s power is great; yet apparently you defeated her and her allies on numerous occasions while still concealing yourself from them.”

Merlin felt his cheeks grow warm under everyone’s scrutiny.

“There are several other magical threats I recall that inexplicably disappeared or were vanquished far too easily. Do want to fill us in on the details?”

“That would take days.” Merlin rolled his eyes.

“I’ve got some free time,” Gwaine said.

“Actually, you’re not done polishing my boots,” Elyan contradicted. “However, the rest of us would love to hear a few details.”

“In your own words,” Arthur said. “No interruptions, no demands. No judgement this time.”

There was some initial hesitation before the knights’ curious questions combined with Merlin’s sometimes humorous and sometimes terrifying version of events had them all sharing stories and comparing notes on who had noticed what when. Arthur was uncharacteristically silent, but the sorcerer caught his thoughtful gaze several times, reassessing, revising.

Several jugs of wine and mead were consumed during the course of the morning. By the time the sunlight filtered through the red-and-yellow glass panes was a narrow rectangle directly below the windows, Merlin felt a twinge of lightheadedness that suggested he should eat something. Likewise, Gwaine was tapping his knee the way he did when he was hungry.

As if on cue, the door opened and a serving girl backed through carrying a tray piled with apples. She used her hip to hold the door as she manoeuvred into the room. Merlin jumped up to give her a hand but reached for the tray at the same time that she released the door and spun around. The tray tipped and apples rolled off in every direction.

“I’m sorry,” she said at the same time Merlin exclaimed, “Sefa!”

She was dressed like the other serving girls and her hair was pulled back in a loose braid except for a few reddish-brown strands that curled around her face.

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him. Then she glanced toward the king, blushed to find his attention fixed on her, and dropped to her knees to hurriedly collect fallen apples. Merlin knelt to help her.

“You don’t have to.” She replaced the fruit she had collected on the tray but her hands shook and three apples rolled away again.

He tried to grab them but they slipped out of his grip and rolled further.

“Merlin.”

At the sound of the king’s voice, Sefa turned white and dropped the apples she had picked up.

Merlin cocked his head toward the monarch. “Arthur?”

“We’d be better off if you _didn’t_ help her.”

The warlock considered the king for a moment, then turned back to the scattered mess on the floor and muttered a spell. The apples gathered themselves up, hopped onto a pile on the tray, and the tray delivered itself to the table.

Sir Ector flinched as if one of the apples was about to attack him. Leon grinned slightly and shook his head. Gwaine immediately grabbed a fruit and took a big bite. Gwen and Elyan exchanged a startled look before reaching to help themselves.

Sefa fell backwards, her wide eyes going from Merlin to the king. Merlin stood and offered her a hand to help her to her feet.

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and pinned Merlin with a narrow look. “My chambers would have been considerably neater if you’d done that the last several years.”

Merlin shrugged. “I would have if I could have gotten away with it more often.”

“How many times did you use magic to do your chores?”

“Well.” Merlin tapped his chin with one finger as if doing mental addition.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

Sefa grasped hold of the back of an empty chair and wavered slightly. Her gaze jumped back and forth between the king and the apples that had been delivered to his table by sorcery.

The warlock turned to Sefa. “It’s all right, I promise. I’ll talk to you later.”

She nodded at him. He waited until she composed herself and left before he resumed his seat.

“Can you conjure up bread and cheese to go with them?” Gwaine asked through a mouthful of apple.

“No, but I could summon up a bouquet of flowers or a flock of butterflies.”

He merely grinned at the disgusted look Arthur sent him.

Gwaine paused in the midst of chewing. “How did you already make the acquaintance of our newest and second-prettiest maid?”

“Yes, how did you?” the king asked, brow furrowed.

Merlin hesitated. He had no intention of making life difficult for Sefa unless and until she and her father posed an actual threat. “I met her on my recent journey. Her family used to live with the Druids and it caused trouble for her with the citizens of a village on the northern border.” It seemed safe enough to reveal that much of the truth, and it would allow him to broach the subject of what he had witnessed in the past few weeks. He watched Arthur carefully, pleased at his concern when Merlin told them more about the frightened reactions he had seen to even the most benevolent uses of sorcery.

The discussion turned to an official announcement about lifting the ban on magic. A public declaration by the king and queen was arranged for those within the city with notices to go out under the king’s seal to all other parts of the kingdom and to the courts of each of their allies. The public announcement would be made on the anniversary of Arthur’s coronation.

Merlin felt his stomach churn when Gwen decided he should accompany the king to the public ceremony. He regretted having drunk so much mead. Arthur grinned widely at his reaction and promptly approved Gwen’s suggestion. Gwaine handed Merlin another goblet of mead.

The remainder of business for the Council that day was routine. Merlin was surprised how little had changed in the time he had been away. It seemed like the world had turned completely sideways since Arthur discovered his magic yet only a few weeks had passed.

After the meeting ended and the others made their way out of the chamber, Merlin sat for a moment staring at his hands folded on the table in front of him, his mind churning through the events of those few weeks. He was called back to the present when Arthur snapped his fingers in front of Merlin’s face.

Gwen smiled at him, her brown eyes bright. “That went well.” She placed a hand over Arthur’s on the table and squeezed. “I’m proud of you, Arthur.”

He flipped his hand over so their palms were together and laced his fingers with hers. “I thought Sir Ector would have a heart attack when those apples floated down in front of him.”

Merlin tipped his head and contemplated the king. “You took it well, though.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair and regarded Merlin. “I still have a lot of questions for you.”

“I know.”

“Most importantly, are there any other threats to the kingdom you’ve been keeping from me that you intended to face alone?”

“No.”

“If there were, would you tell me?”

“Of course, Arthur.” Merlin put on his most innocent face. He had not yet confirmed Ruadan was a threat so it was the truth. Besides, Sefa was now a witness to Arthur’s acceptance of magic.

The king drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “What about the dragons? Could you destroy them?”

Merlin gave him a horrified look. “Kilgharrah would never attack Camelot again, I won’t let him, and Aithusa is just a baby.”

“A flying, fire-breathing baby with teeth and claws who is emotionally attached to my mortal enemy.”

“Technically, yes, that’s true, but I won’t let Aithusa hurt you or Camelot. Besides, Morgana agreed to your truce and gave up her claim to the throne so she’s no longer your mortal enemy.”

Arthur shook his head. “You care about her, and you care about those fire-breathing monsters.”

“They’re not –”

The king held up one hand. “As long as none of them attack my people or my kingdom, I won’t have any quarrel with them but I don’t have to like them or forgive them.”

“You’ve forgiven Morgana, though, haven’t you?”

“For what she did to me, yes.” Arthur looked at his wife. “For the people she slaughtered and what she did to Guinevere, I’m not sure I have.”

“I hope one day you do.”

“Perhaps.”

It had taken Arthur two months to forgive Gwen but he had, even believing she deliberately betrayed him with Lancelot. It would take longer to get past all that Morgana had done, but eventually they would prove to each other they were no longer enemies. Merlin let the subject go. “You can meet Aithusa.”

Arthur’s mouth pursed as if he had bitten something sour. “I have no desire to meet another dragon.”

Gwen shuddered. “I’ve been as close to one of those creatures as I care to be.”

“Merlin, let’s agree to differ on our attitude toward Morgana and dragons.”

“So, you don’t care to join me when I visit the Isle of the Blessed?”

“I didn’t say you could go there.”

“I didn’t ask.”

The king rocked back in his chair. “Does it mean anything to you that I’m the king of Camelot?”

“It means I have to put up with you.” In times past, a comment like that would have earned him a blow or necessitated dodging some handy projectile.

Arthur merely regarded him thoughtfully. “If you were insolent as a servant, you’re going to be insufferable as an advisor, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely not.” Merlin leaned forward and saw Arthur’s expression change to the awed and baffled look he wore when his friend used what Gwen had termed his sorcerer voice. “I respect you, more now than ever because you had the courage to question your own beliefs. Because of you, Camelot and all of Albion will be the greatest kingdom the world has ever known.”

The king blinked once or twice before he broke eye contact and shook his head as if to clear it. “When do you plan to go? It’s nearly midwinter and no one travels in winter.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Unless the prince of Camelot orders them to.”

“You complained enough when we did. I can’t believe you would choose to go all that way now.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t abandon you any time soon.” He chuckled at Arthur’s glower and wondered if he would have to dodge a goblet after all. “I was going to go at Beltane.”

“Good. I’d hate for you to miss the announcement and celebration next week.”

Merlin’s stomach dropped at the reminder of the public ceremony to announce the change in laws which Gwen and Arthur insisted he attend.

His evident nervousness was enough to restore the king’s good humour. “Don’t worry, Merlin, I’m sure you can manage a public speech that will convince a crowd of onlookers that you, a powerful sorcerer who has fooled them for years, are not evil and dangerous.”

~

Despite Merlin’s awkwardness at the attention focused on him when he faced the crowd gathered in the courtyard for Arthur’s speech, he found his natural confidence buoy him up when he stepped onto the balcony beside the royals. After the king and queen announced the royal proclamation, Arthur gave a stirring and far more glowing account of Merlin’s magical protection that he would ever have delivered in private. Merlin let warmth wash through him at the praise even if it meant Arthur would spend the rest of the day sending snide comments his way to cover up his public show of gratitude.

When it was Merlin’s turn to speak, that inner warmth combined with the rush of power he usually felt when his strongest magic surged upward. It tingled against his skin and vibrated in his fingertips. A few of those in the crowd flinched at the strength in his voice, but the sight of their beloved ruler standing unafraid at his side calmed them. When Arthur spoke again and announced a celebration with food and wine to be distributed to any and all, a cheer drowned any lingering nervousness in the gathering below.

The citadel servants had long been preparing for the feast that marked Arthur’s coronation and the double celebration only increased their efforts. There was an endless supply of pastries to accompany roasted duck, pork, and beef, stewed fruit, and even dates. Enough wine and mead had been served that nearly everyone was at least tipsy by the time the third course arrived.

The anniversary of Arthur’s coronation was also the first anniversary of Uther’s death. In the midst of the celebration, Merlin saw the king spinning his goblet and staring into its contents as if it were a crystal ball. His plate of food was barely touched.

Merlin leaned closer. “Do you …” he paused and the king looked at him quizzically. “Do you worry what your father thinks about the changes you’ve made?”

Arthur scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “Yes. Every decision I make, I consider what my father would have done, though I no longer judge myself solely by what he would have wanted. I mourn his loss, for myself and for this kingdom.”

“Even though …”

The king leaned closer and met Merlin’s eyes. “I know you never liked my father and I have an inkling now why you were so nervous around him, but I admired and respected him as a king.”

“If you could speak to him again, would you?”

The blond brows raised. “He’s dead, Merlin.”

“I have something, well a magical something, that can be used to summon a spirit from the Other World,” he said in a rush and then held his breath.

Arthur sat back, eyes searching his face. “Are you saying I could summon my father’s spirit and speak with him?”

The warlock nodded.

He shook his head. “No. What good could come of that? We can mourn the loss of our loved ones but attempting to hold onto them only brings pain. I have to rule my kingdom the way I believe is right and my father has no further say in my decisions.”

The last scrap of worry that his friend harboured any doubt about the change in laws was brushed away.

“However, if you are in possession of an artifact with the power to summon the dead, I presume you’ll deliver it to the Camelot vaults?”

“Well, about that,” Merlin took a deep breath, “I was thinking when the Isle of the Blessed becomes a gathering place again for those with magic, it would be best if what’s in the vaults was transferred to the care of those most familiar with them.” Presumably the artifacts could not be destroyed, since Uther would have done so if he could have, and they needed to be handled by those with knowledge. Surely there were also a number of beneficial uses for those items in the proper hands.

The king was more gobsmacked than when Merlin announced he had magic. “You want to take an arsenal of powerful magical items and deliver them to Morgana?”

“Not right away, and I was thinking of the Druids, not Morgana.”

“Are you mad?”

Merlin chose not to answer that. Probably Arthur had long since made up his mind about the answer anyway. “Don’t you agree it would have been better to leave the Cup of Life with the Druids instead of allowing Cenred to get his hands on it?”

The king shook his head. “It wasn’t safe with them. They gave it up far too easily.”

For an instant, Merlin hesitated, wondering how much Arthur would guess.

The blond brows creased. His blue eyes were sharp when they met Merlin’s. “They didn’t give it to me, did they? They entrusted it to you.”

Merlin scrubbed a hand across eyes. “And I promptly lost it when Cenred’s men took you out with a poisoned arrow.”

“He would never have gotten it if it were safely in the vaults.”

“Like the key to the Tomb of Ashkanar and the Crystal of Neahtid?”

Arthur pursed his lips. “I won’t allow these things to fall into the wrong hands.”

“Who decides what the right hands are?” Merlin held the king’s gaze. “Those things aren’t yours, Arthur. They never were.”

The king opened his mouth, closed it again, and then leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. “How about you visit the Isle first and ensure Morgana is not building up an army of magic-wielding warriors or organizing a revolt in those ruins.”

Merlin nodded. He wanted to speak with Iseldir or another Druid elder and ask about the items Uther had stolen and locked away. The most likely place to find those with the required knowledge was the Isle of the Blessed when he visited in the spring. Patrols had reported evidence of many people crossing the Plains of Denaria, though no one had been seen except from a distance.

Merlin was curious what he would find there in the spring. The times he had set foot on the fog-shrouded Isle, the pull of ancient magic had been strong though muted. Gaius tried to explain what the place had been like at the height of its power but the reality was probably so much more and, though it would take years to return to its former grandeur, simply being inhabited again must have awakened the magic that slept there.

Merlin was also anxious to see Morgana again, though he cautioned himself about reading too much into all that had happened during their truce. He smiled at Arthur. “I’ll tell you about it after my trip.”

~

“What do you think the dream means?” Morgana idly rubbed her right wrist where she had worn her sister’s bracelet for so long. The scars from the Sarrum’s shackles had faded to pale pink circles.

“You are the Seer, Morgana,” Finna said. “What do you believe your dreams are telling you?”

In the three months since the elder and her group of initiates had arrived on the Isle, Morgana had grown to respect her wisdom but chafed at her enigmatic half-answers. She bit back an impertinent retort. “It’s been years since I experienced a prophetic dream. My bracelet blocked most of them and since it was taken by the Sarrum’s men,” a shudder went through her, “my nightmares have been simply that – nightmares.”

There were fewer bad dreams now. Her first days on the Isle, alone, Morgana had woken every night soaked in terror. She had taken to sleeping with several candles lit. When Aithusa showed up at the end of the first week, Morgana gratefully prepared a place for the dragon to bed down beside the hearth in her chamber. Since then, her nightmares came only when she was especially tired or worried.

Her gaze wandered restlessly around the large meeting room where she sat with Finna on a long wooden bench. This chamber was the warmest of the areas they had cleaned and furnished; its walls and roof were intact and its hearth had been easy to repair. The chimney had been swept and almost no smoke lingered inside the room. It was also large enough for all two score of the Isle’s current inhabitants to gather for meals.

The fire was kept burning by women who had trickled in shortly after the arrival of Finna’s group to take up residence on the Isle. They also took care of the food stores, prepared meals, cleaned, and wove the thick, woolen cloaks they all wore. The few men who had accompanied them cleared debris, rebuilt walls, and fashioned furniture. Most of the people were Druids but some were magic-users who arrived one by one with sad tales and no other place to go even now they were no longer hunted by Camelot soldiers. None of them were the least bothered by Aithusa’s presence. When Morgana asked how they had known she was restoring the refuge on the Isle, they merely shrugged and said it was common knowledge. She did not know how many more had arrived that morning.

Finna’s green eyes softened and she leaned forward in her chair to pat Morgana’s knee. Strands of grey hair fell forward from beneath the wide, black scarf wrapped around her head. “I know you are plagued with bad memories, child.”

“Thank you for listening to my rants. I don’t know what I would have done without your understanding and guidance.”

“You would have carried on as always.” The elder woman sat back again. “But you know this dream is different or you wouldn’t be discussing it with me.”

Morgana nodded. “In the past when I had one of _those_ dreams I knew it would come true right away. In a way, this is the same because I know it’s going to happen but it feels distant. The people I recognize, or think I recognize, are older.” The knight with blue eyes and curly dark hair was Mordred even though he was not the young boy she had last seen in Alvarr’s camp and it made no sense the young Druid child would be knight. Arthur’s face was thicker with lines creasing the skin around his eyes and mouth while his blond hair was thinner. “And I’m there.” She rarely saw herself in one of her dreams. The only time she could recall had been her premonition of her death and Emrys standing over her, terrifying in his anger and pity. That vision had not haunted her again, but this one was nearly as frightening. “I can smell the blood, hear the crows shriek, feel the dampness of the mist. My arms are sore from rowing and my legs ache from running hard. I’m searching, looking into the face of every dead soldier and every wounded man. My desperation turns to despair when I see Mordred and know he’s dead. Then I’m rowing again, rowing a barge bigger than any we have on the Isle, with the help of three other women. We cross a lake heading to an island but it isn’t the Isle of the Blessed; there’s no citadel, only one thin tower reaching up to the clouds. In the bottom of the boat is the king’s body.” Oddly, tears formed in her eyes. She and Arthur had not been on the best of terms for years and even at their last meeting when they finally reached a truce they had been barely more than civil.

“The meaning seems plain.”

“But where am I taking him? Why am I concerned for Arthur more than Mordred? If this is a vision, is it a warning or a prophecy? Can I stop it? Should I stop it?”

“You are right to be wary of trying to change the future. Few have the power or the fortitude to bend fate to their will.”

“Why do I have these dreams, then? Are they only to torment me?”

“You should be honoured to have been given such a gift.”

“They never brought me any peace, only hours lying awake listening to the sounds of other people beginning their day after a night’s rest.” Along with pitying looks from Gwen and Gaius and condescending stares from anyone else she tried to explain her dreams to. “Morgause did me a kindness in giving me that bracelet.”

“Are you certain?”

Morgana stared at the elder. “What do you mean?”

“Did you never ask yourself what dreams Morgause wanted to hide from you?”

“No. I was happy to have a restful sleep. She was going to show me how to use her crystal instead so I could control the visions.” Except in all their time together Morgause never did instruct her in scrying. “She said all High Priestesses used the crystals for Seeing.”

“Nimueh was the last of the Nine. Morgause was never a High Priestess, regardless of what she claimed.”

Morgana stared. Finna was one of the Bendrui, brought up from birth as an initiate in the old religion, but Morgause had been raised from infancy by the priestesses and her knowledge would be nearly as extensive. “She had the blood guard.”

“Yes, the few who chose to join her when Nimueh was defeated by Emrys. What else could they do when there were none left to legitimately claim their service?”

“But Morgause was powerful.”

“She was, but she lacked an essential attribute of a High Priestess.”

“What?”

“Humility.”

Morgana’s spine stiffened. “But, if Morgause wasn’t a High Priestess, am I?”

The grey-haired woman gave her a kindly look. “No. It takes more than exceptional magical power to become one of the Nine. Do not mistake me; you’re the one people here look to for succor. I believe in time you will prove to be one of the chosen, a servant of the Triple Goddess, but that time has not yet come.”

An old familiar feeling of fear of who she might become twisted Morgana’s insides. “What if I’m not worthy?”

“The goddess will make known her wishes in good time. It’s our task to increase your understanding and control of the powers she has given you. I don’t have your gift, but I do understand the burden it must be to see glimpses of a future you cannot avoid. I can only advise you to use what you see for good.” Finna folded her hands across her ample belly. “Let me ask you this: if you could have your bracelet back to block these dreams, would you want it?”

Morgana’s mouth opened, then she closed it and let out the breath she had taken. She had no more reason to fear her own power and perhaps, as Finna had said, she could use her visions for good. “It doesn’t matter, the bracelet is lost.” Amata was drowning in civil war in the wake of the Sarrum’s death.

“Perhaps –” Finna was interrupted by a young woman wearing the black cloak of one of her initiates.

The woman dropped to one knee and bowed her head. A blue crescent was painted on her forehead beneath a fringe of black hair. “He’s ready, my lady.”

“Thank you, Raven. Send him in.” Finna’s eyes when she turned back to Morgana were hooded.

Morgana narrowed her gaze at the elder. Whoever had been included in the recent arrivals must be a person of importance to have merited an audience with the elder. When Finna got to her feet to face the entryway, Morgana followed suit. Rage surged through her at the sight of a bald, stocky man wrapped in blue robes with both hands clasped on the tall staff he held in front of himself.

“You are not welcome here.” Morgana’s hand twitched with the urge to send a blast at the Catha priest as powerful as the one his staff had felled her with. She hesitated when he made no effort to defend himself.

“Morgana.” Finna’s soft tone calmed the demand for retaliation churning in Morgana’s gut. “The Isle belongs to the goddess. We cannot turn away any she has welcomed.”

“The last time I saw this man, he attacked me. He comes as my enemy.”

“You misjudge me, my lady.” As always, Alator’s expression was bland and his tone was even. “If you are not an enemy of Emrys, you are not my enemy.”

Her heart jolted at the name. “Why are you here then?”

“Word has spread through Helva of your restoration of the Isle of the Blessed. This is a worthy task you have undertaken. I am honoured to be in your presence and to offer greetings and thanks from my fellow priests.” The tattoos which ringed his neck stretched and relaxed again with his respectful nod.

His expression gave away nothing of fear or deceit. Morgana glanced at Finna. Surely the woman would not calmly invite Alator to this private meeting if he intended harm.

“The Catha wish to restore our sanctuary in this sacred place and to bring back the ancient ways of our order. I am here to beg leave for myself and my fellow priests to join you on this Isle.”

Surprise mixed with gratification at his deference. She remembered tales she had been told before deciding to seek out Alator to ask his aid. The Catha were powerful friends and dangerous enemies.

Finna’s quiet voice cut across Morgana’s swirling thoughts again. “If you truly wish to bring back the Old Ways, you must make peace with all those who follow the goddess.”

“I welcome any sincere offer of solidarity.”

Alator balanced his staff in the crook of one arm and reached into his robes. “In my recent travels I came across an item of great power. It was forged here. I return it as an offering of friendship.”

Morgana’s eyes widened at the silver arm band he held out on one thick palm. She looked back at his round face. This man had chosen Merlin over her; he had spurned her payment and cancelled their bargain. Now the band he had coveted had fallen into his hands but he was willing to return it when he had nothing to gain except peace between them.

She approached him and stretched out a hand to take the bracelet. A familiar warmth tingled her fingers as she stroked the delicately engraved emblem of the house of Gorlois. “Thank you for your gift.”

Alator nodded gravely.

“I feel I must offer you something in return, something equally precious.” Morgana held out the silver band. “A token of peace and friendship.”

His eyes widened slightly and he darted a glance at Finna. Then he took the bracelet. “My lady is too kind.” Alator bowed his head at her and then repeated the gesture for Finna.

Both returned his obeisance.

“I hope you can sit with us for the meal this evening and we can speak further,” Morgana said.

“My lady is generous, but if I may beg your indulgence, I would like to spend the final hours of the day in solitude by the sacred well at the top of the hill.”

Morgana glanced at Finna and waited for her subtle nod before granting the polite request.

He gave a short bow. “Then I will go there now.”

“Is your companion waiting outside?” Finna asked.

“Yes.” Alator’s brown eyes twinkled in his stern face. “The others know he’s here.”

She sighed. “I didn’t expect to keep it secret for long.”

A nervous flutter swirled in the pit of Morgana’s stomach. Her mentor was full of secrets today.

“Have Raven send him in,” Finna said.

Alator tucked the bracelet back in his robes and moved to the chamber door to nod at someone in the hall.

Though she had guessed who Alator’s companion was, Morgana caught her breath when Merlin appeared. It was a ridiculous reaction. After all, it had only been a few months since she had seen him.

“Hello, Morgana.”

“Hello, Merlin.”

He wore a dark blue doublet and black cloak that looked amazingly good on his lean frame. More than his clothing had changed and she struggled to pinpoint what it was. Something about the way he held himself, even his walk, projected power that was no longer hidden. Or maybe his burden had become easier to shoulder.

He gave her a shy smile and nodded familiarly at Finna. They must have had a long conversation when he arrived that morning with the Isle’s newest residents.

Raven followed him into the chamber, her head properly bowed in the presence of her mistress but her eyes fixed on Merlin’s back. Morgana frowned at the young woman.

He turned to Raven. “Thank you for keeping me company.”

She stuttered a reply before she dropped her chin to her chest so the hood of her black cloak covered the blue crescent.

Behind her, three more black-cloaked initiates rushed into the room. The first stopped short to stare wide-eyed at Merlin. The next one bumped into her, opened her mouth to snap a reprimand, saw Merlin, and likewise froze even when she was jostled by the third young woman. At a stern glance from Finna, the new arrivals each dropped to one knee and bowed their heads to her. Then they shuffled back to line up behind Raven, keeping their heads properly lowered even while they peeked up at Merlin. He gave them a curious glance.

Morgana strode forward and looped her arm through Merlin’s to guide him to the bench with her and Finna. “I’m glad you got a chance to make Raven’s acquaintance.” Inwardly, Morgana chided herself for the jealous bite in her tone. She gritted her teeth and forced a smile.

Merlin tipped his head to the side. “She told me many good things about you. She said you were one of the best teachers she ever had and she’s learned much about healing spells.”

The admiration in Merlin’s eyes washed away any bad feeling toward the younger woman. “Raven is a good student,” Morgana allowed.

“Morgana is our best healer.” Finna smiled proudly.

Morgana sat straighter at the elder’s praise. “Aithusa helps, too.” She turned back to Merlin. “Aithusa is here.”

“I know.”

“Did you send her?”

His blue eyes were startled. “No. It was her idea. She wanted to keep you company.”

Morgana remembered what the Great Dragon had said about Aithusa’s bond with Merlin. “I was glad to see her.”

He nodded. “She missed you, you know.” He took a deep breath. “I missed you, too.”

“I’m glad to see you, too, Merlin.” She was chagrined to feel her cheeks grow warm at his bright smile and was relieved when Finna asked him about his journey.

A group of women bustled in with food for the evening meal even though it was two hours before the usual preparation time. Uncharacteristically, four men were assisting them with the food. All of them exchanged whispered comments and darted looks at Merlin as they went about their tasks.

After that, a steady stream of people trickled into the room. Usually, they would have been engaged in afternoon chores but it seemed everyone on the Isle had completed their work and arrived early for the evening meal. Singly and in groups, they found excuses to approach Morgana and then waited expectantly, eyes darting between her and Merlin.

She introduced each person in turn. He greeted everyone with a friendly smile though he squirmed slightly when someone bowed to him or stared longer than was polite. She barely refrained from rolling her eyes at the deference and gratitude they showed Emrys.

When a tall man with thin, grey hair and beard arrived, Morgana beckoned him over. “Merlin, this is Ruadan.”

Merlin started at the name and fixed his gaze on the man’s face.

“Emrys.” Ruadan put a hand on the sword at his side and dropped to one knee.

Morgana gritted her teeth. Ruadan of all people should have displayed more dignity.

“You’re Sefa’s father,” Merlin said.

Ruadan’s head came up. “Yes. I was on my way to meet her in Camelot when I heard the Pendragon had repealed the ban on sorcery. I came here to find out the truth of the matter.”

“You know it’s true, then. Arthur has restored magic to the kingdom.”

“But how is it possible? The prophecies could not have meant a Pendragon is the Once and Future King and you are far too young to have assisted in his conception and raising.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “Is that what I was supposed to do? Ewww.” He shuddered.

Ruadan peered closer into his face. “You are young to have shouldered this destiny and accomplished so much already, but your eyes reflect a wisdom older than your years.” He turned to Finna and gave her a respectful nod. “You were right, my search for the Diamair is pointless. Whatever Arthur’s bane is, it will show itself in its own time, not at my whim. It is best that I return to my studies in Helva.”

“Aren’t you on your way to see your daughter?” Merlin asked.

“It no longer serves any purpose. If she is not ill-treated, it is best she remain where she is. My path lies in a different direction.”

“Do you want to know if she’s well?”

“I’m sure she is. She is strong.” The grey-haired man straightened. He stood stiffly erect as he said his final farewells and then strode out.

Merlin frowned at the man’s back. He seemed offended on Sefa’s behalf for the lack of concern her father had displayed. Morgana remembered his reaction to the girl’s friendliness on their short journey together. Had he taken advantage of her presence in Camelot to get closer to her? Were they good friends now or even something more?

“Royce made a trip here,” Morgana said to regain his attention. “He says Lynette and Bruin are married and have taken in two orphan girls, refugees from one of the villages where the food shortage in the north was most severe.”

Merlin smiled. “That’s wonderful.” A worried expression replaced the smile. “Is everything well with him?”

“He says most of the villagers are treating his grandmother with new respect and fewer and fewer are willing to tolerate Aldrick’s attempts to stir up trouble.” Morgana tipped her head and smiled slyly. “I think he’ll be back here soon given the way he and Gwynna were making eyes at each other.”

The wide smile returned and Morgana’s heart jolted at the way Merlin’s blue eyes grew brighter.

“I’m glad.”

“How are things in Camelot?” Finna asked.

“Much has changed already. The knights, even the older ones who served Uther, never questioned Arthur’s judgement in changing the laws and officially recognizing me as part of his Privy Council. Not all the nobles of his court are pleased, but they know their choice is either to tolerate me or risk Arthur’s wrath.” His eyes brightened again. “Gwen took me with her whenever she visited her friends and acquaintances or strolled through the marketplace and made a show of being perfectly comfortable with me. After awhile, the common people became as willing to approach me about magic as they were to request alms from the queen.”

Morgana arched one black brow. “So everything is peace and tranquility?”

He stared down at his hands where they twisted a corner of his dark blue doublet. “Some people make the sign against evil as I walk by or duck out of my way when they see me coming. And several courtiers have tried to convince me to use my power over the king to grant them certain favours. They don’t believe me when I say I have no magical control over Arthur.”

Morgana was not the least surprised.

“There was one incident in a village on the western border, a public burning of a young woman accused of sorcery.” Merlin’s knuckles whitened on the handful of cloth. “She didn’t do anything bad.”

Finna leaned forward. “You cannot blame yourself, Emrys. For all his heavy-handed efforts, it took Uther many years to turn people against sorcery and it will be some time before they are at ease again no matter how it is used.”

“Arthur rode out himself and arrested those responsible for the burning. He made a moving speech about tolerance and change.” Merlin grinned slightly as he looked sideways at Morgana. “You should have heard it.”

“I’ve heard plenty of Arthur’s speeches.” She tossed her long hair back over her shoulder. Her brother’s self-assurance that was so obnoxious in private served him well in public. Though she would never tell him so, she had frequently been moved herself when he addressed a crowd.

“We’ve heard tales of you, too, Emrys.” Finna’s green eyes sparkled in her lined face. “Is it true you brought rain to the drought-stricken north?”

“Yes.”

“Without aid?”

He nodded, his cheeks pink.

“Amazing,” Finna said softly. “Normally such a feat requires the combined effort of several of us working together.” His eyes darted away from her intense stare and she sat back, smiling. “Have you seen much of the Isle?”

Merlin shook his head. “I saw the courtyard and Raven told me about the orchard and the sacred well at the top of the hill.”

His gaze circled the wide room full of people working effortlessly together to prepare a huge meal. Several times there was a flash of gold in someone’s eyes as they went about their tasks. He smiled at Raven when he found her eyes on him. Her cheeks coloured but she smiled back.

Morgana stood. “There will be time before supper to see more of the castle and grounds.”

“Yes, please let Morgana show you what has been accomplished in this short time,” Finna said. “We can speak during supper about those treasures buried in Camelot’s vaults. I will see you two later.”

Morgana frowned at the knowing look Finna wore. In their many long talks, there were some things she had not told the elder. How much had the older woman guessed?

Merlin seemed not to have noticed any hint of guile as he stood and said a respectful farewell to Finna. If anything, there was a slight nervousness in his expression when he looked back at Morgana. She tamped down a surge of excitement at the thought of having him to herself for a time.

She kept that thought to herself as she showed him how much of the castle they had rebuilt and the freshly-planted gardens. They paused in a huge chamber which would have dwarfed Camelot’s great hall, except it had no ceiling and two walls were rubble.

It was built onto the side of the steep hill in the centre of the Isle. At one end, a spring dripped cold water from a rocky outcropping into a pool the size of a washtub.

“We wanted to restore this sanctum next but we don’t yet have sufficient skilled labourers to rebuild the ceiling.”

Merlin crouched by the pool and touched the glassy surface which reflected the cloudy grey above. Perfect rings stirred the water in widening circles. “This is a beautiful sanctuary. All of it, I mean, not just this chamber.” He looked up at her. “I can feel it, the vibration as if everything here is much more than itself. Every leaf, every drop of water, every creature that stirs with life. Even the stones are full of life.”

The appreciative look in his eyes as well as his words made her heart do a slow roll in her chest. “This pool is fed from the same spring that feeds the sacred well on the hilltop. Finna goes up there to scry.”

“Do you still see visions?”

“Not often. Never in water and rarely in my sleep anymore.” Should she tell him about her dream or would that only enhance his mistrust of the Druid boy? “I’m learning to understand my visions.”

His gaze went to her bare forearm. “Did you accept Alator’s gift?”

“Yes, and offered him the bracelet in return.”

“I’m glad you forgave him.” Merlin looked away as he pushed himself to his feet.

“He’s one of my own. I would rather have his allegiance than remain enemies.”

Merlin glanced sideways at her. “Does that mean …”

She crossed her arms and waited.

He took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. “Does that mean you can forgive me?”

She tipped her head, pleased when his gaze was briefly drawn to where the curling ends of her hair grazed the neckline of her gown. His cheeks reddened.

“Yes, Merlin. I forgive you.”

The relief and joy in his face made her catch her breath. She stepped closer and brushed her thumb over his cheekbones. Then she slid her hand into his hair and pulled him down to press their lips together.

When they parted for breath, he cocked his head. “Aren’t you going to ask me to forgive you?”

“For what?”

“You’ve done some pretty awful things to me.”

“You deserved it.”

He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “I forgive you anyway.”

His breath against her ear caused heat to uncurl in her belly. His mouth still hovered beside her cheek and her woolen dress was far too warm. She pressed a palm against his chest and was gratified to find his heart beating as rapidly as hers.

“I haven’t showed you my chamber yet.”

He chuckled and his chest rumbled under her fingers. “Aren’t we expected at that lovely meal I saw being prepared? It smelled delicious.”

“I think we have a little time yet.”

He smiled as she kissed him again.

 

END


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